


Rise of Icarus

by Shenirkhal



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bisexual Harry Potter, Childhood Friendship, Confused Harry, Different Perspective On Hogwarts Events From First to Seventh Year, Emotional Roller Coaster, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Friends to Enemies to Friends to Lovers, From Pre-Hogwarts to Post-Hogwarts Lives, Gay Draco Malfoy, Loss of Memory (Sort of), M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, Oblivious Harry Potter, Pining Draco Malfoy, Powerful But Restrained Draco Malfoy, Powerful Harry Potter, Pre-Hogwarts, Rating will go up later on, Self-Discovery, Slow Burn, Veela Draco Malfoy, Young Draco Malfoy, Young Harry Potter, glamour, loss of magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-02-28 00:09:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13259481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shenirkhal/pseuds/Shenirkhal
Summary: Draco had a secret. His family had been hiding their Veela heritage for centuries now, and he was very well aware of the importance of keeping the fact unknown to the world. However, he was also curious, like any eight-year-old boy would be. And his most recent obsession seemed to have become Harry Potter.Draco wanted to understand what all the fuss was about. Why people everywhere seemed to beam at the mere mention of the boy’s name. Well, everyone except his family, at least. And some of his friends. But he still needed to know. See with his own eyes. Analyse and draw his own conclusions. For scientific purposes, obviously.And that’s how he found himself in muggle Little Whinging, hidden in a bush of hortensias under one of the windows of Potter’s alleged home.This is the beginning of a long journey. A journey that will bring two boys to develop an unexpected friendship, that will soon however be tainted by the darkness of adulthood. And a blond Icarus will have to learn how to reach for his emerald Sun through a path full of thorns and sorrow. But also hope. And love.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! ^_^  
> This is the first time I post a work of mine anywhere, so I hope I won't make a mess ahah!  
> Also, English is not my first language, so please bear with me for any mistake you may find... I will try my best to revise the text, I promise, but some errors might always slip.  
> I've actually been writing stories since I was eleven... which was definitely a lot of years ago, but I recently rediscovered the joys of fanfiction and my thirst for Drarry is never satiated, so.... An idea popped into my mind and suddenly I was plotting like mad and had to write it down. I have to warn you, I happen to be unable to write simple and short stuff, so if you decide to read be prepared for a long ride lol  
> The tags (and characters) that I've added as of now are the general ones, but I will update them gradually as the story progresses, since it will cover a big time laps (from pre-Hogwarts to post-War lives). Also, I rated it Mature for now because the rating will go up at some point (not from the beginning, however, given they are children), so that everyone is warned!  
> Now I'll stop blabbering and leave you to the actual reading XD  
> If you feel like dropping any comment, I'll be more than happy to read them! Given that's my first work in AO3 and an experiment, constructive criticism and chat is very welcomed! :-D
> 
> Disclaimer: The characters contained in this work of fiction are not mine. Harry Potter and its characters are entirely the property of J.K. Rowling. I intend no copyright infringement and no money is being made from this work of fiction, which is only made for entertainment purposes.

**Prologue**

_What is, in the end, happiness?_

Draco was hiding in a dark corridor, the pale moonlight filtering from a large, scattered window that was casting his wretched figure as a relic of disrupted grief against the cold, lifeless stone behind his back.

He felt empty. He _was_ empty.

He ached. Everywhere, but mostly in his soul.

He should feel relieved, knowing that the Dark Lord had finally been defeated, that the Boy Who Lived had indeed survived Death and saved them all, at last.

Instead, around him there was only darkness, a bold, gaping void obscuring his aura and stifling even his own magic. The only thing he was aware of was that something was irreparably broken inside him, as if a key piece of his life’s puzzle had gone lost.

_Is this how Muggles feel every day?_

He closed his eyes, shivering in the chilly air of the night. He had his cloak draped all over his shoulders and around his body, but apparently not even his heavy vests could keep him warm. He was cold, deeply cold.

His magic was gone. He could no longer feel the warmth of it flow through his body and liven him from the inside, crackling on the surface of his skin in its comfortable, usual itch. He’d rather much die than live a life bound to be stripped of his only other source of light and left alone, to dwell in that cold darkness again, and again, until Merlin knew when.

_Malfoy! What are you doing here?_

A voice suddenly reached his ears. Deep, but strangely muffled, as if absorbed in a haze.

A translucent, towering stag was standing right before him, blurring the moonlight from above with its silvery aura. Despite everything, he obviously recognised the animal. It was Potter’s patronus. It was impossible to not recognise it. However, he couldn’t fathom a reason as to why the Saviour’s patronus should have appeared in front of _him_ , of all people.

It wasn’t as if things between them had been going smoothly, lately. More like, in the last six or seven years. Or as if Potter had finally _remembered_.

_Sure… As if he ever will_. Draco mentally scoffed at the whole unlikelihood of the idea, which made his heart twitch uncomfortably in his chest. He tried his best to ignore it, to endure the painful sting of disappointment. He ought to be strong if he wanted to cope with… Well, with everything he would have to face soon. Too soon for his own liking.

And yet, it was definitely Potter’s voice that was speaking to him, riding the midnight breeze to reach his misery.

_How long have you been here?_

_I don’t know. I don’t remember anything. I don’t want to know. If only I could forget everything_ , Draco thought, without actually voicing his answer to the lively spectre. He felt the sorrowful void in his heart expand painfully, blaming him for his actions and choices, for the death and mourning of so many people, known and unknown.

He couldn’t talk. He didn’t have the strength to express his own thoughts and fears. If only he had chosen differently. If only he’d had the courage to choose when the moment had come.

A coward. That was all he was. How could he ever dream of Potter – Saint, Brave and Golden Potter – thinking of him as something valuable? Someone to care, and help. Love, maybe? As… before everything began standing up against them? Merlin save him, he really was such a fool.

_Hope is not for filthy Death Eaters like m-_

_Stand up, Malfoy! There’s no use in sulking on the ground like that, I won’t let you ruin yourself._ The hazy voice echoing from the blurry confines of the silvery stag rose in intensity, as if vibrating with warm fury. _Follow me._

Draco was weak. He very well knew that he should no longer interfere with Potter’s life. He’d already done more than he deserved to spare him. To save him, even. However…

_I’ll be waiting for you_.

Draco shivered, feeling his whole being involuntary respond to those words. To his first light, the one he thought he had already lost. Potter’s voice now sounded more determined than he’d ever heard, so open and thick with power that, for a moment, he dared to hope.

_W-Will you?_ , asked Draco, this time with a feeble voice that trembled with uncertainty in the heavy air that separated him from the stag.

_Always_.

He trusted him. Reached this point, he could only trust.

He stood to his feet, hesitation forgotten, like a homeless moth drawn to his emerald fire, aching for his warmth. For Potter’s scorching glow.

It had always been him. His primary source of light, even against his own will. His most treasured secret, since ever.

_Always Harry_.

 

 


	2. Part I - Chapter 1

**Part 1**

*** * *  Before the Fall  * * ***

_It’s a fear everyone has. The fear of flying._

_Of spreading their wings fiercely, towards an elusive canvas painted in uncertainties and foolish hope._

_There was a fear, however, that was specific to Draco._

_The fear of spiralling towards his obscurest self and never be able to come back to brightness._

_To lose, in a flick of accidental distraction, the one and only chance to embrace his destined half._

_His own, saving Light._

_Every single day of his life, Draco feared living, since every lonely breath he took mirrored another possibility gone lost._

_But still, somewhere in his heart, a dim pulse of faith kept feeding his trust, relentless._

_He would find it._

_Someday._

 

 

**Chapter 1**

**_Malfoy Manor, June 18, 1988_ **

Draco was bored.

It was the third time that week that he had come across the name of Harry Potter in the copies of The Prophet he secretly stole from his father… And he was going mad with curiosity.

And boredom. Never forget the utter boredom that life in the Malfoy Manor had come to be, in the last few months. His father was always out at the Ministry of Magic, apparently trying to ingratiate himself with the Minister himself, while his mother seemed to have developed an unhealthy obsession for inviting her friends home for tea and organising social events at the Manor, thus unpleasantly hindering Draco’s tranquillity. He truly loved his parents, and he knew that they loved him as well, but in that particular moment he really was feeling lonely. He had nothing interesting to do, except maybe for reading. But he was starting to become tired of it.

Despite being only eight years old, as every other Malfoy before him – at least, according to his parents – he was quite the intelligent type. Witty and intuitive, always keen on learning new things and ways to subvert and renovate everything he came to know, despite his young age.

And thus, he had read. A lot. He’d scrolled through nearly any readable book he could reach in the house, except for those belonging to the private collection of his father, and learned a bunch of interesting things from it. But he still ached to discover more. Not really about the basic laws of alchemy, the history of Quidditch or the uses of dandelion root in potions.

In fact, he wanted to know about Potter.

The Boy Who Lived seemed to have become a true legend in the wizarding world. And the few hints overheard here and there from fragments of conversations between his father and some of his pureblood friends’ families had done nothing but make his thirst to know grow even more. He’d often heard them whisper about Potter possibly bearing the potential to become a rising Dark Lord, a new beacon that would guide them in their struggle to purify the wizarding society from the scourge of mudbloods. However, they were still cautious. Indeed, there was a high chance the boy was nothing more than what his human face revealed. That is, a simple, unfortunate boy, with a scar on his forehead as testament of his life’s curse.

There had been tons of supposedly secret – at least, his father thought they were, but he’d always underestimated Draco’s cunning stubbornness, ha! – discussions about whether or not to investigate further on the possibilities offered by Potter more… on the field, so to speak. For example, by directly approaching him, obviously bypassing the Ministry. But in the end, they’d never done it.  

How could Draco not be curious? Moreover, it wasn’t as if he currently had better things to do. Theodore and Vincent had left him at the Manor to mope alone, going on some stupid vacation to France with their families. He could at least use some distraction to kill time, couldn’t he?

“Draco, dear, come down! We made tea, and Mrs. Sayre wants to greet you!”, his mother’s piercing voice called, from the living room below.

Stretched out on his comfortable bed, arms thrown over his head on the silky pillow, Draco scoffed. If he wanted to get out of that house and finally lay a hand on some juicy Potter material, he’d have to do it by himself. That was clear. He was tired to spy on the blubbering nonsense of his father’s entourage. If they wouldn’t investigate further to ascertain whether Potter was actually all talk and no action, he’d do it for them.

He needed a plan.

“ _Draco! I swear, if you don’t come here immediately I’ll seize your broom for the rest of the summer!_ ”

…

_Yeah, a plan to escape this hell of a tea time_.   

 

* * *

 

**_Number 4, Privet Drive, June 19, 1988_ **

The place was… mediocrely muggle. As expected.

He’d been hiding in an annoyingly stingy bush of hortensias under one of the windows of Potter’s alleged house since early in the morning, and his legs and back were starting to ache. His robes had proved to be extremely uncomfortable to wear in the summer heat without having one of his parents cast a cooling charm for him. He was definitely pissed off, given all the hours that he’d spent crouching in the struggle to remain unseen and at the same time keep himself balanced enough to avoid the risk of tarnishing the expensive fabric of his trousers with Merlin knew what filthy muggle soil he was laying his feet on.

He’d taken advantage of his mother being out for shopping in Diagon Alley and his father being off to the Ministry for some political affair as usual to carry out his plan. Before putting on some of his best robes and having a quick breakfast, he’d made sure that Dobby had understood what to do in case one of his parents returned home beforehand. He trusted Dobby. The house elf had always taken care of him with fondness since he was a toddler, and Draco loved him, despite his father’s talks about elves being inferior creatures that should be treated as such.

However, the long wait was starting to prove as boring as the endless reading and usual strolling around his house in utter loneliness. He’d initially persuaded himself that Potter would somehow pop-up from thin air, Apparating in the middle of Little Whinging to return home after Merlin knew what business, or the opposite. His mind seemed to have somehow momentarily forgotten that The Boy Who Lived was actually his own same age, thus making it highly improbable that he would catch him in the act of plotting to create his own army of Dark Wizards or using his mysterious powers in the middle of a muggle road.

He suddenly became very aware of the foolish naivety of his childish conviction when finally – around bloody midday – the door of Number 4, Privet Drive, opened, and Harry Potter himself showed on the doorstep in all his…

_…In all his sheer misery_ , if Draco had to be honest. He frowned, a look of confusion in his squinting eyes.

There was no doubt that the boy was Potter. It had to be him. Despite Draco not having a completely clear visual from where he was hiding, the legendary lightning scar became very visible under the bright sun as soon as Potter turned back to lock the door, a couple of beige canvas bags clutched in his hand. But the boy who walked out of that muggle house was definitely not how he had expected him to be.

Harry Potter looked a couple of inches smaller than him, thin and somehow unkempt, with a set of worn-out clothes that fit extremely baggy on him, adding to the whole puny effect. The most striking feature, at least at first sight, were undoubtedly his thick black curls, messily framing his face like a bird’s nest.

But overall he looked extremely muggle, and nothing like a rising Dark Lord would. Draco observed him attentively while he left the doorway and walked out of the garden, starting to stroll down the street. He actually didn’t even look like a proper wizard, all hunched up, hanging head and the epitome of hopelessness painted on his face.

His _eyes_ , though.

He would never admit it aloud, but his eyes were on a whole other level, to the point that – after only a fraction of seconds of observing them from afar – Draco swore he could have spent the rest of his life staring into them and never grow weary of it. The wrecked round glasses he wore did nothing to hide their fierceness. They looked vibrant and overwhelming, like a pair of twin emeralds disembowelled of their unpolished cage to come into life, shimmering with liquid heartiness. Draco felt drawn to them with so much force that it startled him for several seconds. A primal need to lose himself in that green forest and never reach back to his own spirit overwhelmed him sufficiently enough to scare him to death.

He felt _something_. A strange connection of some sort, that he himself was unable to understand. As if that mediocre boy somehow meant something different from anyone he’d met before in his life. And anyone else he’d ever meet.

That particular realization, despite the strange fear and the sense of uneasiness, made his soul itch even more with the need to discover as much as possible about Potter.

And thus Draco emerged from the bush of hortensias in a rush, not even caring to make sure that possible people living in the house could see him from the window, and hurried up to carefully start to follow Potter, keeping sufficient distance so as not to be easily discovered.

What he hadn’t considered before leaving his house dressed from head to toe in downright wizard attire were the stares that muggles would give him. Luckily enough, at least Potter – being ahead of him on the street – was unable to see him. The muggles he came across, however, were doing nothing to conceal their bewilderment. He supposed he had to expect that seeing an eight-year-old boy walk down a street alone, dressed in expensive dark grey trousers, white cotton shirt closed at the collar by a jade cameo, and a velvety dark cloak with silvery finishes in the middle of summer would look suspicious, to say the least, in the eyes of a muggle.

He nonetheless tried to ignore those inquisitive eyes fixed on him from every corner of the sidewalk, and focused on his task. That is, on Potter.

He made sure not to lose sight of him, following his every movement and cussing under his breath in a way that his mother would have deemed very inappropriate when, after seeing Potter suddenly cross a road, he hastened his pace distractedly and nearly got smashed by one of those weird metal devices with wheels that muggles used to go around. _Damn muggles and their crappy things_.

At some point, Potter turned left and finally stopped in front of what seemed to be a muggle shop of some sort that Draco did not recognize. He barely had the time to catch a confused glimpse of the odd sign above the entrance before Potter pushed the door to enter, and – to his utter disgust – he _had_ to follow.

Never in his eight years of life he would have imagined that one day he’d be forced to enter a muggle shop and actively associate himself with that lower species. Looking around for clues about Potter’s possible intentions, he nearly bumped into a middle-aged man wearing an ugly brownish coat, and found himself shivering at the mere thought of what his parents would think if they discovered where he was in that precise moment.  

Potter grabbed a big metal basket with wheels from a corner near the entrance, and dived into the shop with no hesitation, hands guiding the odd device ahead of himself. Draco squinted, suddenly expecting something extraordinary to happen, but Potter seemed totally at ease performing whatever his task was among those muggles, which heightened Draco’s confusion.

_Maybe he’s trying to blend in_ , Draco thought, running along a shelf packed with colourful boxes of dubiously edible things that made him sick with nausea. Were those really mushy pineapple biscuits? Ugh. _He probably doesn’t want muggles to notice him because he’s trying to pull off his secret mission_.

However, despite his lingering suspects, Draco had soon to come to terms with the fact that Potter was simply strolling around a muggle shop with no seemingly ulterior motive. The place, in fact, appeared to be merely some kind of big storage spot, with lots of parallel rows of shelves full of items mostly unknown to Draco. Some of those shelves, in particular, seemed to be made in a different way, and were strangely lightened from above and emitted a cold aura, as if they were charmed to remain cooler than their surroundings. It was almost fascinating, somehow.

Draco looked at Potter, who was now distractedly throwing things into the wheeled thing. He was still waiting for a sign of Potter’s magic popping up from nowhere, but resumed his tailing with renewed curiosity. He’d never admit it aloud, but he was kind of intrigued with whatever task Potter was performing, despite having no actual clue of what was happening.

Potter suddenly stopped in front of a shelf and tilted his head towards something placed on the highest level, definitely out of his reach. The sight finally triggered Draco’s expectations. Something was surely bound to happen, at that point. There was no way Potter wouldn’t try to subtlety use his magic to reach the object. A levitating spell, or a summoning one perhaps, or even…

_What the---_

Merlin’s beard, what was Potter trying to do?

Eyes wide with bewilderment, Draco took in the sight of Potter, clinging to the shelf with his hands planted in the plastic supports like animated hooks, the foot placed on the lower ladder slowly and tentatively moving higher.

It made no sense. Why would a legendary wizard such as Potter climb over a shelf like a common muggle when he could _accio_ any box or can with no effort whatsoever? Okay, it was true that witches and wizards still not of age for school weren’t allowed to possess a wand of their own – and Draco very well knew that, considered all the quarrels he’d had with his parents, in the vain attempt to convince them to buy him one despite his age. But surely enough, Potter’s magic wouldn’t be stopped by the lack of a simple wand, would it? Even Draco’s magic would at times accidentally go out of control, not to mention those situations where he was instead forced to use his own _glamour_ to hide himself. Using his true magic to conceal his own true self. But well, that was actually a whole other story.

A blunt, metallic sound suddenly echoed in the shop, distracting Draco from his thoughts. After vaguely registering the round tomato can fallen to the floor, his eyes instinctively zeroed on Potter, whose right hand was dangerously stretched upwards, the body arched unnaturally to support the weight in a precarious balance. Draco perceived with absolute clarity what was about to happen, and his magic reacted instinctively, against his own wish.

He felt a strange impulse start to burn from his insides, a small lump crackling towards the surface and exploding in a sudden itch on his shoulder blades, as if a string of breathing energy was trying to escape the mortal confines of his body in a sudden rush of heat. And Draco let it flow instinctively.

The exact moment Potter’s body lost his balance and slipped backwards, Draco stretched his hand and felt his magic, his _true_ magic, physically reach Potter and wind him up in an invisible haze of power that embraced and caught him mid-air, then gently bringing him back to the ground in a fluid motion that would have been unnatural for a muggle.

_Circe, this time I’m doomed_ , Draco thought, staring at the suddenly confused expression on Potter’s face, his hand still hanging in the air, trembling mildly. _My father’s going to strangle me_.

 

* * *

 

Harry was fairly certain that someone was following him.

Perhaps it was just his mind playing tricks on him. He’d spent the previous night spying on his cousin Dudley from the rotten cupboard under the stairs. His cousin had sneaked out of his room after his parents had gone to bed and had turned on the TV in the kitchen on some cheap horror movie that nonetheless had left some unexpectedly grim impression on his mind.  

Either a shadow of the previous night’s anguishes was still lingering upon him, or his perceptions were intercepting something real. In that case, it would have been even creepier, to be honest.

Nonetheless, he still had the shopping to do for the Dursleys – who’d sent him to the supermarket with a clear list of things to buy – and so he couldn’t back off at that point. But in the exact moment he found himself right on his feet in front of a shelf that should have crushed upon him, well-ordered sets of tomatoes cans included, he started to wonder if his mind had gone completely mad. Or if he was experiencing some bizarre hallucination without actually being aware.

He should have fallen to the ground like a potato. He clearly remembered climbing upon the shelf to reach for the cans on the highest level and then slipping.

He should be messily sprawled on the floor, clothes dishevelled and limbs aching from the impact with the ground.

Instead, he was confusedly blinking at the cans still ordered on their shelf, and the whole structure inexplicably intact. He looked around, trying to find a rationally explicable reason as to how it had been possible for him to float in the air, suspended by an invisible force that had then laid him down gently, like a feather waving magically.

He was clueless. Clueless, confused and slightly panicking.

…Apparently just as much as the boy across the aisle seemed to be.

Harry blinked, suddenly noticing the blond kid that was looking at him wide eyed, panic distorting his features.

The first thought that instinctively crossed his mind was that, perhaps, the boy had seen the whole scene. If that was the case, Harry was in deep trouble. He was quite sure that he’d never met the kid before – he would have remembered someone his age dressed in such extravagant clothes – but, given the utter fear the Dursleys had about people associating them with eccentric things or occurrences, Harry knew he should preserve his anonymity at any cost. In fact, he’d been very lucky that it had been some unknown boy to witness the fact, and not one of Mrs. Dursley’s polished friends’ son, or the whole neighbourhood would have known everything within probably less than half an hour. And he really couldn’t survive another week of being nearly starved to death in that shitty cupboard.

And thus, the moment the blond kid took a tentative step towards him, hand still strangely hanging in the air in his direction, Harry grabbed his shopping cart and rushed away without looking back, desperately hoping that the other wouldn’t follow him.

He was panting heavily when he reached the checkout. Providentially, there was only an old woman before him who was already paying, and thus he proceeded to throw all the items in the shopping cart on the conveyor belt at lightning speed. When he finished, while taking out some cash from his pockets, he took a quick glance over his shoulders, to make sure that the boy wasn’t there. Unfortunately, he saw him turning the corner of an aisle and approaching the checkout. He tried with all his strength to convince himself that the kid wasn’t following him specifically, and that he would more likely pay for something and then go his own way without sparing him a second glance.

He tried. He really did. But he couldn’t. Especially given that said kid, upon reaching the spot where Harry was standing – limbs petrified and eyes widened in fear – kept staring as if he was trying to read him.

Harry’s eyes instinctively escaped that piercing stare, and he scrambled to resume counting his money just to give himself some kind of distraction and pretend that he wasn’t strangely affected by the presence of that bizarre, mysterious boy beside him. Was he? Not really. Nope. Not at all.

_Damned Dudley and his stupid horror movies_.

A sudden series of electronic _beeps_ startled Harry, and he twitched his head upwards, eyes meeting those of the young cashier lady with purple square glasses before him.

Brigitte was actually smiling warmly at him, and started to scan the various items, a slightly concerned look on her face. Harry supposed she was a bit startled by his strange behaviour, and, to be honest, he could totally relate. Because he himself was puzzled. And he knew that whatever expression he was sporting at that moment was surely not the usual polite smile he showed every time he went there to do buy things for the Dursleys.

“It’s twenty-five pounds and two cents, dear”, she said, standing up from her seat behind the counter to help him put all the items in his two canvas bags.

Harry whispered a quick thank you, and after handing out the cash and grabbing his receipt, he hurried to lift the two bags and rush away towards the exit doors.

He didn’t even spare a glance back, silently hoping that anything weird that had happened in the shop would remain confined within those walls and not haunt him forever. But, as always, he was being way too optimistic about his own life.

Indeed, the very moment he was about to go past the sliding doors, his ears caught a glimpse of commotion behind him, and he didn’t even need to turn around to know.

Brigitte, the young lady Harry knew – who basically worked at that supermarket to cover her university fees and was always particularly protective over him – was actually pushing out from the counter, her hand firmly gripping the blond boy’s arm. The kid was whining some incomprehensible words, and he was obviously struggling to get free from the grip, but the strange way he was addressing Brigitte surely wasn’t helping him reach his goal. And, if Harry were to be honest, he couldn’t really blame her.

The blond kid was now blubbering something about _stupid muggles with hippogriff manners_ , and Harry would have laughed his ass off if the situation was different. What the actual hell was that supposed to mean?

Even from afar, at that point Harry saw a flick of panic shine in the pale eyes of the boy, and some unknown impulse drove him to act upon his instinct.

This is why, before he was even aware of his body’s actions, he found himself dropping the bags by the exit, and go back to the checkout, stopping right beside the struggling kid.

“It’s okay, Brigitte. He’s with me”, he declared, voice loud and clear. The young lady turned to him looking slightly confused and unsure, a questioning look in her eyes, whereas the boy seemed to be completely stunned by Harry’s intervention, and went utterly silent, mouth agape in astonishment.

“I’m not”, were the only words he finally uttered, voice cracking weirdly, as if he were chocking on some big lump of spit.

“ _Yes, you are_ ”, repeated Harry, nearly hissing those words in his direction, eyes at that point fixed on him. Harry was starting to regret his foolish decision to help the mysterious kid. But he still went on with the acting. “I’m sorry Brigitte, my cousin lives abroad and still has to get used to our customs, thus he blabbers a lot, but you don’t need to w---”

“ _I do not blabber!_ ”, the other boy shouted, his voice suddenly regaining confidence and now dripping with haughty indignation. Harry turned to him, staring in sheer frustration at those enraged eyes. That boy was truly impossible.

“ _Will you please shut up?_ ”, Harry whispered close to the kid’s ear, leaning towards him a bit to try to avoid that the cashier lady heard him. “ _I’m trying to help you, if that wasn’t clear_.”

The other suddenly jolted, and backed off wide-eyed as if Harry had set fire to the air around him. “I am perfectly capable of managing a stupid muggle by myself”, he declared pompously, face set into an arrogant pout. “I don’t need the help of Merlin blessed Harr---”

The boy silenced himself before finishing the name, a look of utter panic suddenly striking his features. He looked as if someone had just punched any remains of his lingering confidence out of him. But Harry really had no time to preoccupy himself with his mental state, at that point.

What he was worried about was that the little git had nearly called him by his own name, and Harry was one hundred per cent sure he’d never met him in his eight years of life. And that could only mean one thing: the boy somehow knew him, and had probably indeed been following him. Perhaps even before he entered the shop. But how? And why? He shuddered at the possible implications of that sudden revelation. Although, if he had to be honest with himself, he should admit that – now that the initial, predictable panic had somehow softened – he was more curious than actually worried about what was happening. And that couldn’t be good. He should get a grip on his damned curiosity, for once.

But now definitely wasn’t the time.

“Brigitte, we’re going. Sorry for causing you trouble”, he thus eventually said, grabbing the other kid by the elbow over his overly expensive robes and earning himself an annoyed snort that he tried to ignore altogether.

“No problem, Harry. But be sure to keep an eye on him, okay?” Brigitte seemed far from actually being persuaded by Harry’s put-up job, but seemed willing to let the whole thing slip – at least for that time – probably also due to the growing crowd that was starting to gather at the checkout.

Harry smiled at her, trying to appear convincing. “I will, don’t worry.”

And with that, he turned on his feet and headed back towards the exit, dragging the boy with him. But _of course_ he wasn’t going to cooperate without somehow arguing with that sharp mouth of his.  

“I am not---”

“You will keep that mouth shut until we’re out of here”, Harry hissed, throwing a quick glance at the boy and receiving a glare in return. “Or we’re never getting away with the mess you created!”

“Humph.” The boy frowned, an angry pout forming on his face, but luckily, in the end, he remained silent.

Harry grabbed the two full bags he’d abandoned beside the doors and proceeded to finally exit the shop, followed closely by his newfound companion. When they approached the nearest street lamp on the sidewalk, he eventually stopped and turned to face him, carefully settling the bags on the ground and crossing his arms over his chest, in a way that he hoped would look at least a bit intimidating.

“So”, Harry began, rising a questioning eyebrow at the other. “What’s a posh like you doing in a supermarket?” He paused just for a moment, trying to find a suitable word. “Following me?”

“If anything, what’s a ratty kid like you doing in a s---” The boy hesitated just for a split second, although the lost look on his face disappeared so quickly that Harry found himself doubting it had ever been there.

“…s-supersnacket?”, the other finally answered back at him, his sharp voice all arrogance and snooty irritation, despite the barely recognizable hesitation. Harry was really starting to get upset at that display of haughtiness. What did that boy even think he was? The prince of the whole United Kingdom?

“Look who’s talking! You’re a kid as well”, he spat back at him, frustrated, nostrils dilating and lower lip trembling mildly. “And just so you know, it’s _supermarket_ , not… What did you say?”

“Supersnacket, but… Whatever.”

The boy rolled his eyes and snorted, moving away from his hips the odd cloak he was wearing with a waving, elegant movement and then turning on his feet and proceeding to go his own way without even sparing a second glance to Harry. He only managed to hear him mutter through gritted teeth a snappish “ _Why am I even losing my time on this---_ ” before he was already at least twenty metres away from him.

“ _HEY!_ ”, Harry shouted, trying to get the boy to stop, but to no avail. And thus he ran after him, halting only when he managed to place himself in front of him to block his path. “You still haven’t answered me about the following!”

The nameless boy, clearly annoyed by the situation, rolled his eyes a second time, exhaling loudly. He then proceeded addressing Harry in the snootiest voice possible, making him wonder whether he really was, after all, coming from some sort of aristocratic family. Because there was no way a normal kid their age – since Harry supposed the boy was more or less around his same age, despite his classy appearance – would otherwise talk like that. Harry was pretty sure he’d never be able to reach that level of verbal refinement, not even in a thousand years.

“Believe me, I would be honoured to inflate your ego by admitting that I was spending my precious time following you, but I can ensure you that this isn’t definitely the case. I have way more significant things to do in my life than trotting after some unkempt periphery boy.”

He then hesitated for a couple of seconds, giving Harry the impression that his façade was actually a bit crumbling, despite his apparent display of confidence. “I just… I saw you before in this neighbourhood talking to someone and remembered the name they used to call you by, and… I-I mean, that’s all.”

The boy then passed a hand through his perfectly combed hair, expression suddenly hardening and brows frowning, his chin smugly pointed at Harry.

“So I’d be very grateful if you could just please let me go now.”

And with that he turned and was definitely about to walk away and leave Harry alone on the spot for a second time, but Harry reacted promptly and asked the first thing that came up to his mind. He couldn’t really identify a rational reason as to why he felt he had to somehow get to know the boy a bit more. But he did. Hence, he acted upon his obscure instinct.

“You could at least help me”, he thus asked, feeling relieved when he saw the other turn back and give him a puzzled look.

“Pardon?”

“I said”, continued Harry, not letting himself be discouraged by the other’s aloof attitude. “You could at least help me carry these bags, since I saved you from Brigitte. So we’re even. Deal?”

The boy gave a snort of exasperation, rolling his eyes for the umpteenth time. “Do you grant me that if I help you you’ll leave me alone afterwards?”

“Absolutely.”

“Let’s go then.”

 

* * *

 

Never in his life Draco had experienced the delights of carrying under the summer heat heavy bags full of food and Merlin knew whatever weird muggle items Potter had bought. It had always been the house elves the ones who got the physical work done for him. He definitely never had to preoccupy himself with vulgar things such as grocery shopping or helping with the household chores.

He should have predicted that dealing with Harry Potter would somehow result in a mess. And while walking all the way down Privet Drive with him – all sweaty and limping from the weight resting on his right hand – Draco was actually starting to regret his most recent life decisions. In perspective, perhaps even the whole tea-time thing with his mother’s spinster friends wasn’t that dreadful, after all.

Maybe he was still in time to drop that stupid bag and _glamour_ Potter enough to make him forget about their whole encounter, if he just---

“You know… You really shouldn’t go around talking nonsense like that, and with those strange robes on, in addition. People here aren’t really that… open minded, I’d say.”

Potter’s unexpected voice suddenly distracted Draco from his frustrated thoughts. He’d eventually gotten used to the comfortable silence that they had mutually established on the way to Potter’s home. He wondered how his parents would react if they saw him now, in the middle of a muggle road, socialising with no other than the Boy Who Lived while carrying a handful of muggle supplies as a common, lower servant. All without asking for permission. Not that he’d ever obtain it if he tried. Desperate times called for desperate measures, but still, it was better to not even consider the possibility of that very scene occurring in real life. Draco loved his life and his many comforts, thank you very much. 

“My clothes are far from strange. It’s called class and elegance, something that is obviously far from your possibilities, judging by the state of those trous---”

“They’re a bit worn-out, I know…”, Potter commented, interrupting him. Draco cast a quick glance at his side and saw him wrinkle his nose as if he felt uncomfortable with letting the words slip from his mouth. “But it’s all my aunt and my uncle allow me to have.”

“Oh.”

For once in his life, Draco didn’t find some witty retort to give his interlocutor.

He simply remained silent, not even realising that they’d actually reached the doorstep of Potter’s house.

“We’re here”, announced Potter, proceeding to search for the keys in his saggy pockets, but Draco didn’t answer him.

Strings of confused thought were spiralling in his brain. Something didn’t make sense. He was starting to think that Harry Potter was in fact very far from the image he’d constructed in his mind. And, if possible, even farther from what his father thought he might be.

Indeed, in that precise moment Draco only saw a boy like him, with eyes bright like a thousand galleons and purer than all the emeralds his mother so often wore, but somehow bleary with an unexpected veil of melancholy that he had no difficulty to recognise. Because it was his own. He had friends, of course, but not that kind of friends he could actually feel free to share the most hidden secrecies of his own self with. In that sense, he was alone.

He’d come there thinking he would find someone unreachable and so much different from him, but the reality was that, despite the ratty clothes and his complete lack of manners, Potter was just like him.

The realization hit him in the face like lightning, setting a wave of panic to his core.

And so, while Potter turned the keys to open the door to his house, Draco dropped to the ground with a fluid motion the bag he was carrying, and _disappeared_.

He couldn’t Apparate at his age, of course, but his _glamour_ was sufficient enough. He let the contours of his body blur into the surrounding environment to conceal himself to human sight, and when Potter turned around and frowned in confusion he knew that he’d succeeded, and that Potter could no longer see him.  

He silently watched as Potter entered his house, then closing the door with a disheartened look on his face that unexpectedly made a strange feeling of guilt and gloom stir in Draco’s heart.

That night, after his mother kissed him goodnight, he fell asleep to visions of anguished clouds and emerald full moons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! :D  
> I’m so happy I finally managed to get the first chapter up! I struggled a lot during this last couple of weeks, with my job basically draining me of all energy. Some nights finding the time to write without actually falling asleep on the keyboard has been a bit of a struggle. lol  
> But I still had a lot of fun writing this chapter, so I really hope you’ll enjoy it! ^_^  
> To anyone who reads, leaves comment, kudos or anything, thank you so so much! It really means a lot to me! I love you all! <3
> 
> Edit: I revised and edited the chapter a bit here and there.


	3. Part I - Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes… I live.
> 
> I owe to all of you an enormous excuse. There are no words to express how sorry I am for this sudden hiatus, and I don’t want to bore you with useless stories… But just know that things got in the way of my writing and I couldn’t help it. My life got turned upside down in these last months, and I experienced some really hard times. I struggled a lot both mentally and physically, and despite still bearing the desire to write, words just didn’t come out. I actually have been unable to do many things for a lot of time. If anyone ever experienced this, I confide they know and can understand. After a lot of struggles, it’s starting to get better now, and this is why I worked restlessly on this chapter in the last couple of days, as soon as I felt able to get back on track. A huge thanks goes to my spiritual half, who was there for me all the times I needed her to be, and never let go of my hand, even in the deepest of obscurities. And to those of you who are still here reading, despite everything. 
> 
> Two new characters have been added to the tags! I know this chapter is a bit shorter than the previous one, but I wanted to have it up as soon as I finished writing this segment. I hope you’ll still like it. 
> 
> As usual, let me know in the comments, if you feel like sharing your thoughts. I always love reading them! Thank you so so much for your patience, love you all <3

**Chapter 2**

**_Malfoy Manor, June 20, 1988_ **

“Draco _, are you listening to me?_ ”

“Y-Yes, Mother. Of course, I am.”

Draco _was_ listening – he couldn’t remember paying such an outstanding amount of attention to anything in his life before, actually – but the lump of sheer panic that her words were stirring in his gut made it difficult for him to answer something coherent enough to not sound suspicious. Hence, keeping his mouth shut seemed definitely the safer option.  

“Your father is incredibly worried. He rushed to the Ministry first thing in the morning to investigate, but he still hasn’t owled any news… If they really found out it’ll be the end for us. We’ll end up facing trials, become outcasts in society and all my friends will--- _Oh, I don’t even want to think about w---_ ”

“Mother, please, calm down!”, interrupted Draco, rushing to sit down on the velvety crimson couch beside his mother, attempting to calm her feverish rambling by placing a hand on hers, clasped together tightly on her lap. “You said that they found trace of veela magic in London in an area that is very far from here…” Yes, and Draco had a very clear idea of where they could have found it. _Me and my persistent inaptitude to control my stupid magic_. “If it was far I don’t think we have to worry that t---”

“You don’t understand, Draco! _We are not registered!_ How many times have I told you that veela magic leaves a peculiar trace, which is different from human magic? It won’t take much to trace it back to our house if one of us accidentally resorted to veela magic instead of the normal one… Maybe it’s me. It has to be me! I went to Diagon Alley yesterday to meet with Bella, maybe I forgot or the _glamour_ didn’t work, I don’t understand…”

At that, Draco mentally scoffed. “Mother, you’re not even a Veela yourself… How could you possibly perform veela magic in---”

“Of course, my dear, of course. You’re right. I’m so used to your father talking about it that I tend to identify myself too much with it… Truth is, this thing is driving me mad. I can’t even think properly now, it’s clear. But I can’t really understand how…”

His mother abruptly stood up from the couch and started trotting nervously around the sumptuous living room, muttering incoherent strings of concerns to the blunt air, since Draco was no longer listening.

This because he, on the contrary, very well knew what was happening. And why.

It was his fault. When he’d gone on his silly search for Potter, he’d involuntary made a huge mistake in that muggle _sup_ \---

…Well, that place. But he’d realized only later how _big_ of a mistake it had been. To be more specific, only that morning, when he’d woken up to his mother’s yells of panic bursting through the walls of the Manor.

The huge fireplace across the couch suddenly lightened in a gust of greenish flames, and Lucius Malfoy elegantly emerged from its marbled confines dusting some residual ash from his brocade cloak.

Draco stared at his father from where he was still seated on the couch, praying with all the inner strength he could summon that his nervousness didn’t let his faults transpire.

“ _Lucius!_ ” His mother rushed to grab at his father’s arm, her expression a pool of stewing anguish. “You’re here, finally! I was dying of concern, not even knowing if---”

“Don’t worry, my dear”, answered Lucius, untying his cloak and then approaching the couch to place it neatly on the armrest beside Draco. “They are clueless. I made sure to gather all the possibly useful information from the right people, and I’ve concluded that they have no real suspect to address for what happened. I think we can safely say that we are in no danger, for now at least.”

_He doesn’t know. Father doesn’t know. I’m safe. Oh, thank Merlin I didn’t mess up that badly!_

Lucius stopped in front of Draco, patting his head briefly, and Draco forced a small smile on his face. “Good morning, Father.” He hoped to sound convincing enough. “We were very worried”, he then added, lowering his guilty eyes to his lap.

He couldn’t help it. The powerful aura emitted by his father always made him feel so impotent and intimidated. Especially when he actually was the one to be at fault, as now was the case. He barely managed to suppress a shudder at the mere thought of how his father would react if he discovered who was the one and only responsible for that terrible mess.

“Good morning, son. I’m sorry this whole matter distressed you. Hopefully, we won’t see it happen ever again”.

_If only he knew…_

“But Lucius”, intervened his mother at that point. Draco could easily read on her face that her worries hadn’t been appeased by her husband’s reassurances. “How can we be _sure_? Did you perhaps---”

“I did everything necessary to ensure that we won’t face any trouble, Narcissa, don’t worry”, he promptly answered, and from the calm and confident inclination of his voice, Draco knew he could trust his father’s words.

He mentally sighed in relief at the thought that, hopefully, he wouldn’t have to live the rest of his life burdened by the very knowledge of having been the one to condemn his family to a horrendous fate with his reckless combination of thirst for knowledge and childish curiosity.

Veela magic was powerful but unpredictable. Especially if one had yet to learn how to control it completely. Thus, it could either act as a useful toot or transform into a terrifying double-edged sword. And what had happened in that muggle supermarket testified to that.

“However, I must admit that there’s something undeniably strange about this situation”, Draco then heard his father say, and an icy chill resurfaced on his skin, travelling down his spine in a rush of dread. “I thought ours was the only Veela family to reside in Britain at the moment. As far as I know, there hasn’t been any reported veela activity in the registers of the Ministry for this area in decades. And I make sure to monitor regularly in case of any changes happening, given our… _status_.”

Draco knew that his father was referring to their condition as unregistered Veelas, hidden to both the knowledge and control of the wizarding society. Draco didn’t really know why their dynasty had been forced to hide their veela nature to the world for centuries. His father never quite answered his questions when he dared to ask for explanations. He merely sent his direction a severe scowl and then voiced always the same order: “You must never, ever, use your magic in public, Draco. _Never_. Remember it. It’s for our own security. Your _glamour_ shall become your second skin, for as long as we live in this country.”

Speaking of this, while Draco was still immersed in thoughts, his mind nonetheless managed to grasp the final straws of some reasoning that his father was voicing out loud, now walking back and forth in the middle of the room, swirling the ebony cane he always brought with him.

“…I wonder if some group of Veelas perhaps moved to our territory recently, without letting the Ministry know. It’s the only reasonable explication. Either that or the tracing enchantments of the Ministry somehow messed up or temporarily collapsed, but I deem that highly improbable.”

“Who cares, Lucius! What’s important is that we’re fine and don’t have to worry about being discovered. That _you_ both are fine. If something, _anything_ , happened to one of you two, I don’t know what I’d---”

“Don’t worry, my love. Nothing’s going to happen. We’re safe. If nothing else happens I suppose we can let this whole thing slip and forget about it.”

_This means I’ll have to be careful…_ , Draco thought, observing his father enclose his mother in a reassuring hug.

But it was then that, all of a sudden, he caught glimpse of a movement in the corner of the room, right before the clear _crack_ of a house-elf Disapparating echoed in the air. His parents didn’t even flinch a bit, too immerse in their own gestures, but Draco was sure.

Before being swallowed up in a swirling dusk void, a pair of shimmering round eyes had been blinking in the dimness of the room right next to the fireplace. Eyes that Draco had no difficulty in recognising.

_Merlin be damned_.

He had to find Dobby.

 

*** * ***

 

“Draco, you’d promised me!” The high-pitched voice of Theodore echoed in Draco’s room from the crinkling fireplace he was sitting in front of, making Draco’s ears twitch a bit in discomfort. He should have anticipated that Nott would react like that. The prat.

“You said you wouldn’t do anything reckless! I thought you just needed to use my room’s Floo to avoid your mother for a bit, not to run away from home for nearly half a day!”

“I know. I’m sorry, Theo”, answered Draco, trying to keep some fake composure with his voice, instead of straight away acting upon his instinct and yell at the boy to just _chill_ , for Merlin’s sake. “But like… Nothing really happened! I just…” He definitely wasn’t going to tell him about Potter. That was for sure. _Sooo_ …

“Let’s say I wanted to explore my possibilities a bit. Father never allows me to go out on my own, he always treats me like a baby and---”

“That’s because you _are_ , Draco”, interrupted Theo, rolling his eyes through the harmless flames that were flickering in the fireplace, his words dripping with that pretentious tone that never failed to bother Draco to the bone. “As much as I am. And in any case, why would you even want to wander through muggle London alone? I thought you despised Muggles.”

“I do.” That Draco couldn’t actually deny. “But I have some… affair to solve in London.”

He’d observed Potter from afar the previous day at that muggle place, thinking he was up to some secretive mission. But now the one with a foolish plan to cover up was apparently him. How hilarious.

“Draco, you just turned eight, what kind of _affair_ could you possibly have?” Nott’s remark was followed by a loud sigh, a sound that distinctively triggered Draco’s irritation for the umpteenth time in the last few minutes.

To be honest, Draco didn’t like Nott that much. Ever since the first time their parents had forced them to meet and spend time together, Draco had thought that the kid was too smart for his liking. He was used to tell himself that the only people he actually needed were dull marionettes who didn’t ask any questions and, more importantly, who didn’t question _him_. Certainly not some weirdly sharp brat with too much wittiness up his sleeve.

“It’s none of your damn business, Theo.”

“It is, actually, if it’s _my_ house that you use to do your… Whatever thing you’re doing.”

Okay. Now was definitely the time to pull what he called his signature _pity-pouty card_ out, before he eventually ran out of the last bit of patience that was left in him.

He thus proceeded to twist his features in an innocently forlorn expression, eyes turning down and lower lip curling out dramatically. “Okay, well… I guess I’ll just have to make my way to London by foot or find some other way to---”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Draco! Use the damn house, if you really have to. But next time, at least try not to scare my house-elf to death, or I can’t guarantee that she won’t tell my father about your little escapades.”

“I won’t, promise!”

“Yeah… As if I’d trust you to.”

Actually, that was none of Draco’s problem.

…Something which instead couldn’t be said of a certain other house-elf who’d been eavesdropping on his conversation from a dusky corner of the room for the past minutes, probably thinking Draco wouldn’t notice his presence.

But he did. In fact, based on his experience, there were very few things that could escape the sensory grip of his veela magic.

He thus cut short his conversation with Nott, muttering a quick _“Uhm… That’s perfect! Thanks, Theo! I’ll see you soon, I suppose”_ to the marble fireplace. Bursts of vanishing flames suddenly engulfed the slightly outraged look on his friend’s face, but Draco couldn’t care less. He had more important matters to address at the moment.

“ _Dobby!_ ”, he shouted at the air, spinning on his heels and heading to his bed. He crawled on the soft duvet and sat down in the middle with his legs crossed, pouting ostensibly at the corner where he could already see a pair of big, round eyes shining in verdant liquidness.

“Stop hiding and come here immediately!”, he added to the summoning, his young voice echoing steady and abrupt in the silence of the big room.

A tiny figure, clad in a threadbare cotton pillowcase, emerged from the dim light, finally showing his pair of bulging green eyes and bat-like, pointed ears to Draco.

“Did Young Master request Dobby’s presence?” The elf bowed profoundly to Draco, his long nose nearly touching the floor in the motion.

“Yes, and you know why, Dobby.”

At that, Dobby resumed his normal posture with a forced, fake smile, walking up to the periphery of the bed. “Dobby doesn’t understand wh---”

“Stop pretending, Dobby!”, shouted Draco, now crossing both his arms over his chest as well, making the elf flinch slightly at the sudden noise. “You know _exactly_ why you’re here! Or you wouldn’t have bothered to sneak in a-and…and…”

Caught by anxiety, Draco faked a cough, trying to regain some form of composure, but _of course_ Dobby would show no pity for his condition. As always.

“Did breakfast perhaps get stuck into Young Master’s precious throat?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Draco glared at the elf for a spare second, eyes set on an offended frown. “I’m afraid not, it’s only that I’m… I-I…”

“Young Master is stuttering”, observed Dobby with his usual, pitiless honesty, bending his big head to one side, expression immerse in thought. “Just like when he’s scared of how Master Lucius’ will react to his---”

“ _I am not!_ ”

He wasn’t. He _definitely_ wasn’t.

…Was he?

“Of course. As Young Master pleases.”

Draco was fuming. He didn’t like Dobby’s accusations, especially since he knew that they weren’t meant as accusations per se… at all. Dobby had always possessed the strange ability to notice little things about Draco, and perceive beyond the posh walls of indifference and arrogance that he had so well managed to create, despite his young age. And that never failed to make him anxious. If Dobby could see… How many others would? He could only hope that Dobby represented the exception that proved the rule.

“I just…”, he began, unsure whether or not to reveal one of his current worries, but eventually succumbing, since he _needed_ to know if he wanted to go on with the plan and make a strategy that would work smoothly.

“I just need to know if you told Father anything. And by anything I mean _anything_ ”, he thus added, stressing the last word with meaningfully raised eyebrows.

“No, Sir! Dobby is a good elf for Young Master!”, the elf responded promptly, agitating furiously his thin arms in the air, as if physically yearning to make his point clear for Draco. “Dobby didn’t tell anything to Master Lucius about how his only son and heir got away from home to pursue some senseless ord---”

At those words, Draco rushed forward with a high-pitched squeal to quickly cover Dobby’s unfiltered mouth with his hand and shut him up before it accidentally threatened to cause some irreparable damages to the both of them.

“ _It was not senseless, Dobby! I went to search for Harry Potter_ ”, he hissed in a rush, right hand still clutching the large swell of Dobby’s mouth, while the other was occupied with keeping him steady by the back of his head, suspended in air over the edge of the bed.

While cautiously releasing the pressure on the elf’s mouth and letting him down on his bed, Draco’s eyes went automatically downcast, full of embarrassment.

“I-I…” He never actually thought he would do it, but there he was, revealing his shameful secret to his own house-elf. Who coincidentally was probably the only sentient being he knew that could actually understand his reasons and – what was more – share and support them.

He never thought he would, but now… He needed this. He needed to talk about what happened with somebody, even if that meant confessing to Dobby. “I wanted to observe him”, he thus admitted as a confession, after endless seconds of hesitance, feeling his cheeks blush annoyingly against his own will.

“ _Harry Potter?_ ” Draco could almost physically perceive the incredulous spurt of excitement Dobby’s voice was dripping with. Suddenly, without even waiting for Draco’s permission, the house-elf started jumping on the bed in front of Draco. And Draco let him be. He didn’t even know why, but he felt exhausted, and surely he didn’t have enough energy left in himself to placate the little pest at that point.

“ _Young Master went to search for… Harry Potter?_ ” Dobby’s eyes were nearly shining as he eventually stopped bouncing on the duvet, clearly not even noticing the desperate pout that was blooming on Draco’s face.

Draco was very well aware of Dobby’s little obsession with The Boy Who Lived, if his shrine of Potter-ish fan club-style relics carefully hidden in the cupboard under the canteen stairs was anything to go by. He’d found about it accidentally about a couple of years prior, and ever since then they’d agreed on some sort of mutually beneficial truce: Draco would not expose Dobby’s slightly deplorable obsession in exchange for support when he needed some special backup for his... Well, for cases like the one in question, apparently. They’d come to develope some sort of unexpectedly well-functioning synergy in that, at least.

“Yeah… If you want to put it like that, I suppos---”

“How is he?”, interrupted Dobby with a urging voice full of uncontrolled enthusiasm, eyes still shimmering and hands now clasped tight against his chest as in prayer. Unconsciously, he got even closer to Draco with his body, probably hypnotised by his own desire to hear more from him. Somehow, Draco could relate.

And the only reason why Draco didn’t even scoff to that umpteenth violation of any possible elf-related behavioural protocol was that his mind got abruptly filled with memories from his one and only encounter with Potter.

He suddenly felt overwhelmed by the usual, odd wave of incomprehensible feelings. And before he even had the chance to realise what was happening, he found himself answering almost inaudibly: “Strange.”

“Strange?”

“Uh-hu” Too immersed in his own thoughts, Draco failed to notice Dobby’s fascinatedly focused expression, as well as the furious blinking of his large eyelids. “Strange and… _pétit_. Literally, I think one could count his ribs effortlessly under those baggy rags he wears”.

He noticed how Dobby’s expression darkened at the word _rags_ and was quick to add: “I didn’t mean it as an insult, Dobby. It’s just that apparently those muggles he lives with are either starving him to near-death or at least supplying his closet with second-hand fashion profanities, and that is… strange? You know, given his status as The-Boy-Who-Lived and _bla bla bla_ ”.

The offended frown on Dobby’s face only deepened at hearing those words, however now turning to a positively more concerned one.

“Dobby doesn’t like this. Dobby doesn’t like it at all.”

“Me neither”, Draco surprisingly found himself admitting. And what made him even more startled was the realization that he wasn’t lying. There really was something that upset him terribly in that situation. He just had to recall the memory of Potter’s hopeless but sharp eyes to…

“His eyes, Dobby”, he said, getting lost with imaginary eyes in a reminiscent reverie for the second time in a few minutes. “You should have seen them. They are so green… and pretty, and…” He sighed, recalling to his memory all the hardly repressed, longing feelings of the previous day. “So powerful. But there’s such sorrow and loneliness held prisoner in them, Dobby. It’s as if…”

… _As if I could see myself reflected in them_. That last part was muttered silently only in his head. He forcibly forbade his mouth from voicing at least that one thought out loud.

“If Dobby didn’t know better, he would say Young Master seems quite enamoured with our wizarding hero…”, the squeaking voice of the elf thus insinuated, as if somehow reading part of Draco’s hidden thoughts, making him flinch in panic.

“ _Y-You blabbering elf!_ ” Draco’s cheeks instantly inflamed as if a flare of _Incendio_ had been set to them. Now, that was too much. “Shout that big mouth of yours immediately or I won’t even fill you in the next time I’m going to see him, that’s for sure!”

As he should have anticipated, however, Dobby ignored his threat completely and, to Draco’s utter dismay, launched himself on one of his eccentric dances, running and spinning in circles around him on a silky, unconventional dance floor. “This means that Young Master is going see Harry Potter again, doesn’t it?”

“T-That is actually the plan, yes…”

“ _Young Master will see Harry Potter, Young Master will see Harry Potter, Young Mas---_ ”

“…Dobby, please, _STOP!_ ”

At Draco’s exasperated shout, Dobby stilled in his racks immediately as if petrified artificially, eyes wide in the effort to obey the order and contain himself.

“Thanks Merlin. _As I was saying_ … Yes, I plan on paying another visit to him” … _Somehow._ He noticed that Dobby was now again listening attentively to his words. He could nearly hear the gears in his head working vehemently. “I think I’ll use Theo’s Floo connection again, provided you don’t spill everything to Mother or Father first. In that case…”

He let those words hang in the air, hoping that Dobby would take the hint. And fortunately, he was not disappointed.

“Dobby won’t!”, the house-elf indeed voiced immediately in a solemn tone, bringing his long, calloused right hand to his heart, as he had seen a lot of wizards do. “Young Master can have Dobby’s word on it. If young Master needs to help Harry Potter, Dobby will assist him in everything!”

Draco rejoiced internally at hearing Dobby’s vow, satisfied by with little victory. _There you go, Draco_. _Good job, indeed_.

Now everything he just had to do was waiting for the right moment to strike again.

Given his natural tendency to impatience, that would probably prove to be the hardest part in the plan. 


	4. Part I - Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:
> 
> I'm currently on holiday with no wi-fi available, so I posted this using my mobile phone. I apologise for any typos or formatting errors that this might cause. I did my best but I'll make sure to fix any problem that there might be as soon as technology allows me to.
> 
> Have a good read!

**Chapter 3**

 

 

**_On a muggle way to Little Whinging, Surrey, June 26, 1988_ **

The prolonged staring was starting to unnerve him.

Rigidly propped on one of the ordinary plastic seats of the muggle subway, Draco couldn’t wait to see the light again. Literally.

He wasn’t even half as scared as the first time he had run that horrendous muggle excuse for a means of transport the week before, but that definitely didn’t mean he was enjoying the ride.

Particularly if considering that the old woman sitting across from him on the opposite side of his coach had evidently been questioning his presence there for the last hour or so. She clearly lacked that highly desirable ability to mind one’s own business, if her wrinkly eyes, trembling behind her worn out set of squared glasses in their frenzied observation of Draco’s figure were anything to go by.

The mechanic, male voice that inexplicably echoed in the compressed space every thirty seconds or so finally announced that which Draco recognised as his stop, prompting him to get on his feet and approach the nearest set of bizarre doors, which unfortunately also happened to be the ones located right next to the lovely old lady.

He tried to keep his nonchalance intact while closing his little hand with some difficulty of the steel pole next to the exit to steady himself, waiting for that infernal muggle machinery to progressively slow down. He really tried. But then, a mere second before the doors suddenly disappeared, sliding inside the walls to reveal the exit, a quiet but clearly distinguishable murmur reached his ears, making him instantly squirm in irritation.

“ _Kids these days… Always roaming uselessly… And their irresponsible parents… Not even controlling them while they---_ ”

Draco never had the chance to hear the end of the sentence, because the meagre nest of white, fizzy hair on the top of the woman’s head suddenly turned a displeasing shade of neon green that pulled a ragged cry from her throat as soon as she caught reflection of herself of the window on the opposite side of her seat, right where Draco had been sitting just a couple of seconds ago.

Grinning devilishly, satisfaction and delight painted on his face as if in a Christmas canvas, Draco quickly hopped off the subway train and headed towards the stairs nearly running, anxious to resurface as soon as possible to some fresh air and clear sky. Too scared of yet another awkward mechanism whose functioning scheme he was unable to identify clearly, he avoided taking the moving stairs and settled for the ordinary ones, desperately trying to sneak between the crowd of people bumping into him from every corner. After the previous traumatising experience, he was now starting to get the hang of all the muggle transport devices, but he still hated them. It all seemed so… _unnatural_. Cold and suffocating. So different from magic, as well as from his natural magic. He’d definitely had enough with that underground rain. The rest of those odd muggle excuses for magic could surely wait for another time. Or even just bloody never.

Not that muggles possessed magic but… Strangely, their weird metallic devices and means of transport seemed to somehow inhibit the functioning of magical tracking, or this was what Draco had learned from one of the several books he’d read. Moreover, the fact that he was underground at that moment probably functioned as a strengthening element of said barrier, to his favour. Thus, on a whim, he’d let his magic operate some fun, innocent trick on that impossible lady, sure as he was that the magic wouldn’t be traced in such an environment. In other circumstances he’d never have risked it, but that woman had really deserved it.

Those were his thoughts while he finally emerged to the ground floor and rushed to approach the exit. Although the mere idea brought a wave of nausea to his senses, just as the week before he knew that if he wanted to reach the isolated town of Little Whinging where Potter lived, he would have to take one of those other extravagant constructions that muggles called “buses”. Slightly resembling the Knight Bus, they nonetheless were so slow in comparison that if only Draco’s wings had already presented he would have undoubtedly opted for using some physical exercise and taking advantage of them, instead of those metallic, old boxes. Even going by feet seemed by far a better option, if only he wasn’t so short of time.

The weather was rather generous that day, with the clouds partially obscuring the scorching sun, particularly if compared to the previous week. Therefore, having even settled for some comfier and less eye-catching clothes – just a pair of black, cotton slacks and a grey shirt, namely the most muggle-ish clothes he was able to find in his wardrobe – he surrendered to the thought of the upcoming, uncomfortable trip with at least more ease than the previous week.

Busking in his newly acquired confidence, he thus headed towards the parking place where the “bus station” was located, undertaking the final step of the path he knew would bring him to Potter’s home.

 

*** * ***

 

Draco didn’t pay attention to how the time was flowing while walking, but the nervousness that was twitching annoyingly in his core at the idea of meeting Potter again was probably contributing to slowing his pace enough to make him frustratingly overrun.

He’d nearly reached the crossroad leading to Privet Drive – he could see it from where he stood, squinting his eyes a bit – when his ears intercepted some screeches coming from somewhere to his right, and the sudden distraction brought his neck to turn on instinct towards the direction where he could now distinguish a compound of voices making noise fussily.

His natural curiosity had inevitably been triggered, so he deviated from his path and followed those traces, deciding to investigate. And eventually, his decision proved to be worthy.

In fact, circled by a group of boys of Draco’s age, or just a bit older, there stood Potter. The scene displayed in front of Draco’s eyes, however, did not please him at all. The boys had Potter cornered, back firm against a big oak tree, and were clearly mocking him and probably verging towards some physical bullying as well, given the stance assumed by Potter and how he was nearly curled on himself from his disadvantaged position against the tree. A strange, unknown sense of panic settled in the deepest recesses of Draco’s conscience, making him flinch for the unexpected wave of raging worry.

“Aren’t ya tired of being alone all the time, you sodding loser?”

While silently approaching the confines of the little playground where the unfortunate scene was taking place, Draco heard the taller of the group utter those words with such disgust and mockery that he himself felt hit by the hatred they were coated in. And suddenly, his anxiety became _real_. A knot grew tighter in his stomach, thinking of what they could be ready to do to Potter.

He started running, panting on his feet to reach them before it was too late. He didn’t even know what kind of feeling was possessing him, but wasn’t up to question and analyse it at that moment. There was no time. He had no time, if he wanted to get Potter out of that situation.

“Not even Mrs Figgs could bear to see your saggy face today? What a pity for you, huh?”

Heart drumming violently in his throat, Draco stopped on the uncut grass at the entrance of the small park, a bunch of metres away from the boys that were now starting to poke Harry on the ribs with some dead branches probably taken from the ground.

Fuming in anger, he set his eyes on the one at the centre, who was speaking and seemed to be the leader of the group. He was at least a head taller than Draco, and basically looked like a gigantic human pig from behind, if Draco had to be honest. Not that he expected to find anything better looking at his front side. And his assumptions indeed proved to be right when the boy turned left to look at one of his companions, who had now taken his turn on harassing and throwing words at Potter, and Draco could see a round face already littered by acne, despite his evident young age, and a prominent, uneven set of bushy eyebrows. Such lovely features for a lovely soul, indeed.

“Do so see him guys? You think he’s gonna pee himself like a---”

“ _HEY YOU!_ ”, shouted Draco at that point from his spot, unable to postpone intervening. He’d had enough of that scene. If Potter wasn’t going to react – _again_ – he would do it for him. “Has anyone even taught you some manners?”

The piggy boy turned to Draco, followed by his now murmuring crew, a hint of surprise that covered his face for the tiniest of seconds, before being immediately replaced by the previous idiotic expression. Draco supposed he could expect nothing better than that from a muggle of such evident intellect.

“Who are you?”, he blurted out mockingly in Draco’s direction, an obnoxious smirk plastered on his oily face. “His little knight in candy armour?”

Merlin, did he really think he was any fun?

Draco refused to make eye contact with Potter. He could trace him with his peripheral vision, immobile against the tree as if even air had evaporated from his body, but as long as he managed to divert those twits’ attention from Potter, everything was fine.

“It doesn’t matter who I am. Not to you, at least. But if you don’t leave him alone right now, I can assure you I will do anything within my possibilities to make you regret it. Painfully.”

“Aww…”, the giant boy said, drawling the word with a sarcastic pout on his mouth, approaching Draco with calculated steps, until less than a metre separated their bodies, and he could tower on Draco’s lithe figure from above. “And why in hell should I even start to believe what a midget like you says?”

“Because I always keep my promises.”

Unaffected by the threatening behaviour, Draco fixed his flamboyant silver eyes on him and simply stared. He did nothing specific, nothing that could be outwardly seen – at least –, but he knew the idiot would soon grasp the truth that was stirring in powerful waves in his irises. He could because the Veela in Draco let him see it. And when the orbits of that pig finally stretched in fear, he knew he’d succeeded.

The giant boy recoiled from him as if he’d been bitten by a venomous spider, jolting backwards with a barely hidden look of terror in his eyes, gesturing vehemently towards the others to follow him.

“L-Let’s go guys! These two losers don’t deserve our time.”

Draco could nearly see first-handily the utter confusion that was spreading among the group, but the guy’s companions said nothing and trailed after him quietly, though not before throwing some perplexed glances in Draco’s direction that he belatedly chose to ignore. Indeed, his attention was solely directed towards Harry, who was apparently still under the pig’s unwelcomed stare, despite everything.

“And you. Have fun with that little creep like you”, the big boy in fact spat towards a wide-eyed Harry, before hurrying away with his company, eyes never leaving Draco, as if controlling his movements. He supposed in the end he’d done an even better job than he thought with scaring that poor muggle for life.

 

*** * ***

 

A couple of minutes later, Draco found himself sat under the oak on a withered patch of grass in front of Potter, who was giving him some openly perplexed looks. He supposed he had the right to do so, given his slightly unexpected appearance.

“Soo...”, eventually began Potter, after taking a long breath, slurring a bit in a seemingly genuine sprout of confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“I casually happened to be strolling down the neighbourhood, and in case you still haven’t noticed…” Draco raised his eyebrows, puffing his chest a bit, hands on his hips to emphasise the point he was going for. “You’re welcome. For saving you, obviously.”

Potter’s face, to his utter dismay, suddenly broke into an unanticipated bright smile, all teeth and shining eyes, as if he was having a whole lot of fun behind his back. “Well, I guess we’re even now.”

The prat.

_How dare he---_

“…We already were! I helped you with your bags!” … _And even in that super…thing, even if you can’t know it!_ “Don’t you even rememb---”

“I do, I do, don’t worry. I was just teasing you”, chuckled Potter, stretching his arms upwards with a light groan. “You know… You’re a funny sight when you’re angry.”

The amount of disrespect.

“I-I… I’m…”, Draco was struggling between keeping the income of oxygen to his lungs intact without suffocating in sheer frustration and fighting the furious blush that was blossoming on his cheeks. He hated how very close he felt to embarrassing himself way out of his comfort limits for that single statement that Potter dared to deliver with such easiness.

“Thank you. For last week and… for today. Even if I know Dudley will take his revenge later.”

It was only the sincere but miserable tone Potter pronounced those words in that finally managed to distract Draco from his pettish internal conflicts. He tried, though not without some difficulty, to avoid focusing too much on the last piece of information, at least for now. Or else his strange instincts would begin to yell at him to follow that guy and chase him down. Like, immediately.

“I _forced_ you to thank me”, he thus opted to point out; half trying to distract Potter from the obscure places his mind had suddenly gone to, as the dimming of his currently opaque-green irises seemed to reveal to Draco’s eyes; half out of pure inability to filter his natural tendency to sarcasm.

“I’m still grateful, though. Really”, was nonetheless Potter’s prompt answer. It startled Draco a bit when he witnessed Potter’s eyes trail to the ground for the fraction of a second, in yet another motion of glooming sadness Draco couldn’t understand, but that was starting to stir a strange sense of discomfort and concern in him.

“…By the way, you still haven’t answered me”, however continued Potter, forcing Draco to focus back on the conversation.

“Well… I ran away from my mother while she was doing her shopping.” Again, a half lie. He couldn’t completely deliver an utter lie, but half-truths weren’t that much of a problem for him. And it wasn’t as if he could be completely honest with Potter. He was still in the process of examining that strange boy, after all. “I wanted to have a walk alone. My feet just happened to bring me here. Don’t get your hopes up. Anyway… Who was that human pig?”

“Big D.” Potter’s eyes widened a bit in what Draco perceived as a mixture of disgust and fear as he said the name, despite the low giggle he welcomed Draco’s expression with. “Dudley… His friends call him Big D, or at least, that’s how he makes them call him… He’s my cousin.”

Hold on. Wait a minute.

His… _What?_

“Y-Your… Your _cousin?!_ ”

Not even a single minute of boredom with Potter, indeed.

“Uh-hu.” Potter raised his shoulders casually with a tense, defeated smile. Draco could admit he had a reasonable set of reasons to not feel enthusiast about the fact. He doubted he could ever be a huge supporter of that Big D guy. At least not without someone hexing the wits out of him first.

“A lovely one, I’d say. And why was he even here?”

Potter released a sigh, taking sudden interest into drawing random patterns on the ground with distract motions of his right forefinger. “We live nearby, in the house you saw last time. I stay with him and my aunt and uncle as well, I…”

A pregnant pause. Draco could feel himself holding his breath for some inexplicable reasons.

“M-My… My parents died in a car accident a long ago, you know…”

That phrase was uttered in a barely audible voice, eyes cast to the ground. Potter looked so crestfallen in that moment, a slight tremble shaking his limbs from inside, that Draco had to physically suppress the strange instinct to reach out and hug him that unexpectedly caught his senses. He never hugged people, except from when his mother did that to him. It just… It felt strange. Thus, he couldn’t understand where that sudden urge came from.

Potter’s influence was clearly playing some strange tricks to him. Aside from that, and the sadness that hearing those words muttered directly from the boy’s mouth brought to him, however, there was something tremendously wrong in what he’d just heard.

“Y-You… They…” Something really didn’t make sense. At all. “A… _C-Car accident?_ ”

… _What in Circe’s charms is this supposed to mean?_

How could Potter blatantly lie like that… while looking like he was not lying _at all?_

“Yeah… It’s all I know. I don’t remember anything of them. I was too young, I guess. And my aunt and my uncle… They barely ever speak of them. And when they do it all they say it’s just that they were some weird people. They…” Draco listened to Potter’s explanation attentively, desperately trying to spot something – anything – that could indicate that he was lying, but he seemed so… sincere. And yet, if he really believed that… Why? _How?_ What was that supposed to m---

“They despise them. Hate them, even, I’d say. They always repeat they were some common drunkards, and things like that”, he then heard him add in a whisper, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “I don’t believe them, but… Sometimes it just becomes too much. They’re not that good to me. Never have been, actually. That’s why I try to spend as little time as possible in that house, in the summer at least.”

“I-I…” Draco didn’t know how to answer. His brain was working like mad to make connections, but he clearly lacked the necessary basis to do so without only ending up reaching ridiculous conclusions. At the same time, a strange mixture of worry, sadness and confusion was agitating in his mind, unsettling him.

“I’m sorry”, was all he could come up with, in the end, though those common words felt empty even to his own ears.

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault. To be honest, I don’t even know why I’m saying all these things to you, when I don’t even know you – for real, I mean. But there’s just… _something_ in you that… I---”

“I guess not”, hurried to interrupt Draco, before Potter could say something else with that frustratingly honest attitude of his that would probably embarrass him or threaten to expose his identity for the umpteenth time. “But still…”

He never managed to finish his sentence, though, because Potter was suddenly looking at him intensely. Basically as if he’d grown a second head, or something particularly interesting was happening on his face that needed some additional amount of concentration so as to be grasped in all its glory. He blinked his eyes at him a couple of times, incapable of hiding his puzzlement.

“W-Why are you---”

“Do you always glow like that?”

Draco’s eyes widened to the point of nearly threatening to explode in their orbits at Potter’s simple, destructive question. Dumbstruck and barely containing the sudden urge of panic, he replied in a chocked whisper:

“L-Like what?”

“As if your face had its own light… Or like someone poured a bottle of rainbow glitter on you.”

At that point, Potter shamelessly poked at Draco’s left cheek with his index finger, making him flinch in a mix of stupor and shock. Unable to control his reaction any longer, Draco felt himself growing crimson and starting to gasp for air, nearly choking on his own spit embarrassingly. _How dare he---_

“Don’t worry! It’s actually pretty cool, if you ask me!”

…

Draco collapsed.

 

*** * ***  

 

Harry was worried.

The boy had remained unconscious for a good minute or two before starting to give any sign of life. He’d collapsed out of the blue, body unexpectedly moving forward in an uncontrolled motion. Harry had luckily managed to catch him before he smashed his face on the ground between them, and then handled him so that he now had the boy’s head and shoulders lying on his lap, legs stretched on the straw-ish grass.

“Are you ok?”, he asked the boy first thing, as soon as he spotted his lively silver eyes blinking back from the previous darkness, slowly regaining consciousness. There was a nearly unintelligible instant when their eyes met and Harry swore he had caught those flaming orbits flashing a surprised, frightened stare at him, but it disappeared as soon as it came, living him questioning his own perceptions.

“Yeah… Think so…”

The boy’s voice was a little raspy, as if he’d ran out of breath for some reasons that Harry failed to understand. But he remembered very clearly him getting quite flustered upon his prior observation regarding his glowing, mesmerising skin, and thus opted for keeping quiet on the subject, at least for now. Moreover, that strange aura he’d clearly perceived just a couple of minutes ago seemed to have magically disappeared now, simply living on its trail some admirably unblemished skin. Softer than his own, surely, but nothing too fancy or unusual.

How strange. Maybe the summer hotness had tricked him into hallucinating everything, after all.

“Thank god. I was starting to worry up here. You nearly died on me before I even had the chance to ask your name… Since you seem to already know mine, if I remember correctly.”

Funnily enough, the boy seemed to recover immediately upon hearing those words, and stared back at him from below with lips pursed into an annoyed pout, rolling his eyes a bit. But he didn’t try to move from his resting spot on Harry’s lap. “How dramatic. I didn’t _die_ on you. I just fainted. Your fault, obviously. And well, I-I… I’m---”

Suddenly, among those stutters it looked as if he was falling back into his previously panicked state, but before Harry could hurry to say something to calm him down and prevent another breakdown, he muttered a name. A strange one, to say the least.

“Lynx.” The boy cleared his throat, and then repeated, a bit more confidently: “I-I’m Lynx.”

Harry blinked his eyes twice at that declaration, face coated in perplexity. Both elicited by the information itself and the uneasiness that was suddenly emanating from the boy in invisible waves. He was actually growing restless in his arms as if anxious for something, cheeks slightly flushed. Although it required a huge amount of control upon his trigged curiosity, Harry tried to ignore it, to avoid increasing the boy’s nervousness. “Lynx as in… the creature? Isn’t it an animal or something?”

The boy – or better, Lynx, as it seemed – got up abruptly, nearly knocking out Harry’s chin in the movement, and turned to him crossing his arms over his chest, as if mortally offended.

_Nervous, my foot!_ , Harry couldn’t help but think, pursing his lips while secretly trying to hide his laughter. _At least he definitely looks recovered now._

“Of course it is! And a beautiful one as well, elegant and extremely intelligent! Are you perhaps implying it doesn’t suit me?!”

Was he really throwing a tantrum over _that_? _Really?_

“I’d never dare. I was just thinking that it’s rather… strange? As a name, I mean.”

Silence descended upon them in an unexpected veil, at least for Harry. Lynx seemed to be contemplating something in his head, and for some seconds he remained lost in thoughts unreachable to Harry, before sharpening his look towards him, as if studying his reaction in search of some misstep.

“Okay.”

“Okay… What?”

“This. I can accept this. As long as you apologise properly for insulting my name.”

Now. That really was TOO MUCH. Even for him.

“ _But I didn’t insult your name!_ ”, burst out Harry at that point, frustrated by the whole situation. “I just---”

“My, my, my… I wouldn’t have pegged you for such a crying b---”

“ _OKAY!_ Fine. Whatever. I am sorry for questioning the nature of your incredibly amazing name. Are you happy now?”

“Could have been phrased better, a little over strained I’d say, but we’ll make it work, I suppose. But don’t think I didn’t get your strategy. I know you’re just trying to appease me to distract my mind from---”

That was it. After surviving eight years of harassment by Dudley, he was now going to end up in jail for assaulting some insufferable kid of his age. Life indeed was unpredictable, sometimes.

Though with some difficulty, he tried to get a grip on his impulses, sighing exasperatedly.

“ _Oh my_ , you really are an impossible thing, aren’t you?”

“…If you mean impossible in the sense of impossible to reach in its majesty, then you are absolutely one hundred per cent correct. You’ll soon come to know that…”

It was now Harry’s turn to abruptly move, standing on his feet and walking away with that living menace stubbornly trailing after him as predictable. Despite Harry’s clear escape attempt, the boy carried on with his ridiculous plea showing no pity whatsoever for neither Harry’s poor soul nor his desperate ears.

Nearly panting, he mentally sighed. The almost martial pace he’d set to uselessly try to put some space between Lynx and himself would definitely never be sufficient to save his mind from the impending headache he felt hovering over him like a hunting, stormy cloud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloo 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter!
> 
> Yes, Draco had to have some kind of pseudonym to hide his identity and... I made him love lynxes ahah. They're one of my favourite animals, soo...
> 
> Thank you for reading! See you in the next chapter, byee <3


	5. Part I - Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 

There was no doubt that Potter was trying to get rid of him.

They’d been running some kind of strange, circular marathon for a while now, aggressively pacing along the outskirts of the desert park with apparently no sign of yielding from both.

And Draco was starting to suffer from perspiring, increasing irritation. If Potter was some type of resistance freak and could run for hundreds of kilometres without caring, nor suffering any gruesome consequences, Draco wasn’t. Draco had visual and fashion standards to maintain, and he was currently verging towards disrespecting both, if the intolerable pools of sweat that he could feel dampening his expensive clothes in critical areas of his body were anything to go by.

“ _HEY!_ ”, he thus shouted at Potter’s marching figure ahead of him, his previous pointy remarks now long forgotten after he was forced into silence out of necessity, if he wanted to keep up with Potter’s far-fetched swiftness. “I’m speaking to you, Potter! Slow it down a bit, would you?”

Luckily enough, Potter visibly flinched upon hearing Draco’s calling and eventually halted and turned to him, welcoming the frustratingly panting mess he’d made of himself with a light glare.

“Ough...” Exhaustion limited Draco’s choice for words for a bunch of seconds, allowing him to only focus on the basic efforts to inhale and exhale to survive the fatigue, before getting his strength back. “At last. Thank you.”

Potter’s frown seemed to only intensify a that, despite the hint of a repressed smile that Draco could identify on his slightly quivering lips.

“Only if you swear you’ll stop blabbering.”

“ _I never blabber!_ ”

“I think I’ve already heard this”, promptly retorted Harry, raising his eyebrows with a sceptical expression that made Draco wince with indignation for just a second, before regaining his composure.

“Well, you know why?”, he thus inquired, hands planted on his hips in a challenging pose, his voice gradually raising in pitch. “Because it’s T-R-U-E.”

“Okay, _Mr True_ , as you please”, conceded Potter, just a moment before rolling his eyes at Draco unabashedly. Again, how dare he. “Let’s go, then!”

“W-What?”

Draco suddenly found himself throwing a surprised look at Potter, after catching on to those words. Had he even heard correctly or…

“Didn’t you want me to wait for you?”, urged Potter, probably upon intercepting Draco’s hesitation with his eyes.

“Exactly, but I told you to _stop_. I never said you were allowed to drag me to Merlin knows what terribly mediocre recesses you have in this godforsaken place.”

“First, I have no idea what you’re saying, but I always understand half the words you say, so that’s not really a problem.”

Potter strode towards Draco, invading his comfort zone to the point he felt the need to back off of half a step, suddenly staggered by the unexpected proximity.

“Second…” When Potter however grabbed his hand in a quick, imperceptible movement, his plan ended up being sabotaged against his will. “Come with me. I promise you won’t regret it.”

“Ooh, this really reassures me _soo much_ ”, bit back Draco at that, voice dripping with an audible, raw sarcasm that however _obviously_ didn’t stop Potter, who instead stubbornly resumed walking, now dragging Draco away with him by his hand to only Merlin knew where.

“Do you always have to be that difficult?”

“ _Uhmpf_ … I’ll come, I’ll come”, Draco resorted to answering, though quite uselessly, given he was already following Potter on his steps. Moreover, he’d never admit it aloud, but some part of him was secretly curious about Potter’s intentions. He still had some appearance of pride to keep, though. “But so to be clear, I never agreed to any of this.”

 

*** * ***

 

“…And now? What precisely are we supposed to do here?”

In the end, they’d walked for some time, until reaching a river bank scattered with a row of thriving trees all along both sides. A light breeze was blowing from time to time, and while Draco’s body instinctively welcomed its pleasant caress over his skin, he couldn’t help feeling slightly unnerved by how his usually composed hair seemed to be now flying in every direction uncontrollably.

“We just lay down and take a rest. It’s cooler here, with the trees and the water and---”, began Potter beside Draco, after stretching his arms above his head with a peaceful sigh.

“Lay as in… Making contact with the soil with our bodies?”

“Uhm… Y-Yes?”

“ _But it’s dirty!_ ”

“It’s only some grass, it won’t bite you!”

Draco didn’t seem convinced at all. He kept staring at the grass at their feet as if an army of carnivorous plants was bound to emerge from the ground at any moment to mercilessly tear his precious clothes apart piece by piece.

“Just try it! You’ll see.” Harry turned to Draco, looking at him with a pout that was quite far from convincing, especially if judged by Draco’s standards. _Cute. But still way out of my league_. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course not. Why should I?”, retorted Draco, wrinkling his nose in disgust the moment his eyes darted back to the ground for just a second. “But never be said that I back off from a dare, so…”

“This isn’t a dare, what the---”

In Draco’s eyes, Potter looked as if he was edging towards another tiny breakdown. Again. _So easy to rile up_.

“You know? Never mind. Do me a favour and just sit down and try to keep your mouth shut for a minute or two, okay?”

“Since I’m a nobleman, I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear the subtle sarcasm in those insulting words of yours.”

“ _Why am I still listening to this nonsense…_ ”, murmured Potter whilst moving down the bank towards the placid water, perhaps thinking Draco wouldn’t hear him. But he definitely did. He could thank his naturally heightened senses for that.

“It isn’t as if I couldn’t hear you from here, you know?”

“Then try to control your blabber for once and bring your noble mouth down here!”

“For the last time”, shouted Draco in response, cheeks suddenly flushed in anger at Potter’s umpteenth slandering accusation. He was doing that on purpose to get on his nerves, that was clear. “I do. NOT. _BLABBER!_ ”

“…If you say so.”

Stupid Potter. If only he were free to use his magic and---

_Don’t lie to yourself. You know you wouldn’t do a thing to him_.

Despite Potter’s insufferable disrespect for proper manners, Draco was indeed very well aware that the kid was making him feel _something_. An itching curiosity that he’d never experienced before, and was heightening his senses in all the best of manners. It had surely been a lot since the last time he’d felt so strangely… alive. And captivated by someone. He definitely couldn’t lose the chance to see where the thing would go.

For this reason, though still muttering incoherent imprecations through gritted teeth, he started descending the riverbank with some difficulty, his fashionable dragon skin shoes sliding dangerously over the uncut grass.

The instant he slipped on a particularly nasty spot of damp mud, however, Draco swore he would get his revenge, later.

 

*** * ***

 

…Or maybe some other time.

“You know, Potter… I hate to admit it, but this isn’t bad. You were right. I think I could get used to this.”

“I told you!”, exclaimed Potter enthusiastically while releasing a content sign, his body stretched out on the grass at Draco’s right, head rested comfortably on his hands.

Some minutes of peaceful silence passed after that, and Draco was starting to feel gently lulled by the light breeze that was caressing his heated skin, eyes close to the softened sunrays that filtered cosily from the tree’s leafy branches, when all of a sudden Potter’s voice resurfaced from the quietness, waking him from the comfortable trance where he had been falling.  

“You know, I was thinking… It’s the second time you call me Potter, already… How’d you even---”

That question. Again.

He’d hoped Potter had forgotten about it altogether, but evidently he wasn’t that lucky. And thus he answered the only thing he could say without blatantly lying or contradicting himself. In fact, it was true that he’d heard a group of old ladies comment on Potter’s lone walking while reaching that muggle place as… “As I said to you, outside that sup… super…”

“…Supermarket.”

“Yes, supermarket. Just as I was about to say.”

Draco forced himself to ignore Potter’s unconvinced stare, or else he’d never get to the end of his speech.

“Whatever. As I said to you that time, I just… Happened to overhear someone calling you by your full name from afar, soo…”

“Uhm… Okay… If you say so…” Harry didn’t seem convinced, at all. But luckily for Draco, he let the thing slip. At least, that was Draco’s hope, until he saw the flick of a shadow ogle over Potter’s face, making his nose twist a bit as in discomfort, and something in his gut tightened anxiously.

“Anyway…Please, call me Harry, at least. Potter makes it feel so… weird. I prefer Harry.”

_Merlin be thanked_.

Relief flooded Draco’s mind upon hearing those words and realising that Potter hadn’t said anything along the lines of what he was dreading to hear. Instead, what Potter was asking came rather… unexpected, he would say. He actually didn’t know what to make of it, but he definitely had no problem with fulfilling Potter’s request. Except maybe the stupid apprehension he would never admit openly to anyone – not even himself – at the very idea of being on first name basis with no other than Harry Potter himself.

“Uh, o-okay. H-Harry, then.”

Draco mentally face-palmed himself at hearing his own hesitant, squirming voice.

_Stop idiotically bringing disgrace to your family’s name, Draco. Get a grip on your wings_.

_You don’t even have them, yet…_

_Whatever, just SHUT UP, stupid self!_

_…_

That was it. Harry Potter had finally managed to drive him mad.

 

*** * ***

That day, Draco learned a lot about Harry. While lounging together on that solitary river bank, with no other company than that of some little while butterflies that every now and then came to rest on random parts of their bodies, Draco asked question after question, eager to finally get to know something relevant, something _real_ , about the mystery embodied by The Boy Who Lived. His favourite colour. His favourite food. What he did to kill time when he was bored. How he lived with his relatives – and on that specific topic Potter actually insisted on giving quite vague answers, which continued to heighten Draco’s worried curiosity. Simple and trivial things like that, but that no one except him in his now privileged position could get to know.

But there still was something _definitely_ relevant that continued to bother him annoyingly.

When Draco had seen him emerge from that muggle house, the week before, he’d deemed the thing none the less suspicious, given the status retained by Potter in the wizarding community. Particularly after he’d walked Potter back home, proving that the muggle squared house really was to be somehow considered Potter’s home. And there had been no doubt that the house was muggle. Draco had been unable to perceive any hint of magic coming from it, nor any stream of ancient conscience that was typical to magical houses, particularly if powerful witches or wizards resided in them. The house had been dead to his senses – both his veela and magical ones – and that for itself had been some rather strange discovery. And then, when that day Potter had openly revealed that he actually _lived_ there with his cousin, as well as with his aunt and his uncle… Draco’s mind had begun speculating like crazy.

Draco knew about the death of the Potters. Every single witch and wizard in the magical community knew about the fact, actually. It couldn’t be any different, given that their fall – and the rise of their son – was what had put an end to the Wizarding War, years before. That being said, for that very reason he’d expected Potter to be living in some luxurious, notable residence, reflective of his social status, and not in a…

A common place in the middle of nowhere. Muggle, on top of that.

To Draco, the whole thing made no sense. The famous, powerful Potter being left in custody to some mediocre Muggles after what had happened to his parents. Potter seemingly unaware of his parents’ identities. Potter apparently also oblivious to… quite a lot of other relevant aspects of his life. It was weird for Draco, having the feeling of somehow knowing more of Potter – _Harry_ – than he himself knew. Indeed, if what Draco had heard up to that point were to be the honest product of what Potter knew of his story, then that undoubtedly meant that the kid’s perspective on his life seemed to be rather… distorted, to say the least.

And Draco was clueless as to the possible reasons for that.

He hated that feeling.

“Are you finally done with interrogating me?”, asked Potter suddenly, eyes shining with repressed laughter, distracting Draco with his voice from the course taken by his thoughts.

“I wasn’t interrogating you! I was just… asking.”

“A lot of questions, apparently.”

That, Draco couldn’t deny.

“I happen to be a naturally curious person. Any problem with that?”

“Not at all. It’s just that… As you can see, I’m not really that interesting.”

“ _You say so…_ ”, muttered Draco involuntarily, turning his head back to the clear sky above them.

“What?”

He’d been heard. Whoops.

“ _…Nothing!_ ”

 

*** * ***

 

“Will you come back tomorrow?”

Potter’s shy question had come rather out of the blue.

They were still seated on the bank, quite close to the water, no longer sprawled on the verdant grass but instead both distractedly looking in silence at a cute family of ducks that was floating pacifically on one side of the still river, not so far from them.

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes! I mean… You’re a bit too much sometimes, but… You’re not that bad when you’re not trying to destruct my ears with that insufferab---”

“Okay, okay, I think I got it, thank you”, intervened Draco raising a hand to stop Potter’s accurate illustration before his ego began to feel personally attacked. “No need to punctuate additional details.”

“There! That’s exactly what I was referring to. What in earth does _punct_ … _Ahh_ , I can’t even pronounce it, what th---”

“This because you clearly lack proper use of the English grammar, but…” Draco closed his eyes, letting a pleasant puff of summer breeze caress his face. “In your defence, in the end I suppose it’s not really your fault, given you spend your days in the presence of the human incarnation of a giant pig.”

Harry’s open laugh reached Draco’s ears instantly, reassuring him that his words hadn’t been taken as an insult. One point to him.

Not a lot of people were actually able to get his raw sarcasm the right way. His appreciation for Potter was silently growing, parallel to the authentic way he could see him reacting to his natural cunning. Despite their clearly opposite characters – at least on some aspects –, and the fact that it was only the second time they actually met and talked, they seemed to get along quite well. So much that Draco couldn’t help but compare him to those who were his supposed “friends”. Strangely enough, if he were to consider his pure instinct he’d have to admit he already liked Potter more than every single one of them. He was just… purer, and genuine. Like… a breath of fresh air in his overly calculated life.

“And you still have to meet my aunt and my uncle. Actually, I really hope for you that you never will”, added Harry as soon as he got a grip on his laughter, while Draco was still absorbed in his own considerations. The topic of Potter’s mysterious relatives, however, managed to immediately get his attention back to the present conversation, eyes now open and sharpened contemplatively.   

“Honestly, I think a little meet and greet with these elusive _relatives_  of yours could be fun.” _…For me, at least_. He was already imagining himself scaring the life out of those stupid Mugg---

“Sorry to contradict you, Lynx, but…”, however intervened Harry, a look of utter worry on his face, nervously adjusting the glasses which had slipped down his nose a bit. “I think our idea of _fun_ is slightly different.”

“Do you? What a pity.” Draco sighed loudly, slouching his shoulders unabashedly, in an unnecessary display of drama that only he could master. “Anyway, I’m not sure if I can, but I’ll try.”

“You’ll try… What?”

“Coming back tomorrow. Wasn’t that your original question?”, replied Draco, rolling his eyes a bit. Sometimes Potter wasn’t that quick at catching up on things.

“ _Oh, yes!_ Of course it was!” Harry lightened up immediately upon hearing Draco’s words, so much that he actually nearly jumped on the spot at that sudden display of enthusiasm.

“T-Thank you. I’d be cool”, he then added, immediately turning back to the shy self that a few minutes before had muttered his request to Draco.  

“Yeah... Guess so”, Draco settled for commenting, not really mulling that much over Potter’s strange reaction. He himself was too wound up, trying to hide his own excitement at the mere idea of another day with Potter. Or better, with Harry.

_Oh my… Get a grip on yourself, Draco. You’re still a Malfoy, for Merlin’s sake_.

“W-Where do we meet though?”, he thus enquired, opting for voicing out the most reasonable thing that came to his mind. “I could ring your doorbell, but I don’t know if that m---”

“ _NO!_ ” Harry’s abrupt cry startled Draco. He surely couldn’t have expected the sheer intensity that denial came accompanied with. “They would kill me! I’m not allowed to bring people home, they don’t even think I’m speaking to anybody, t-they would---”

Draco saw terror in Harry’s eyes. Pure and unadulterated terror, swimming in liquid coils in his jade orbits, pursuing thoughts he was unable to reach. He’d have given anything in that moment to be able to dive into whatever nightmare was haunting Potter’s living memories. The strange anxiety he’d repressed after the Big D incident resurfaced instantly in Draco. There definitely was something alarming in that situation.

“Okay, okay, don’t worry. I won’t. I promise”, hurried to reply Draco, trying to reassure Harry before his evident distress increased even more. He saw him deflate instantly, air leaving his lungs in a visible rush of relief. “We can meet somewhere else”, he thus went on. But he definitely wasn’t accustomed enough with the neighbourhood to be able to make interesting proposals, so… “The park, maybe?”

“No, not the park. At least, not _that_ one. As you have seen, it’s in Big D’s territory. I can show you another place that’s quite special to me. It’s not even that far from here.” Despite the remaining aura of fragility that emanated from his body, Harry luckily seemed calmer now that the prospect of having Draco appear at his door unannounced had evaporated. “Only if you want, of course…”

_Of course_ , Draco wanted. Why wouldn’t he? If he had to be honest, he was practically dying to get to know as much as he could about Harry, at that point.

“I’d love to”, was in fact his immediate answer, accompanied by an embarrassing flush that quickly tinted his cheeks. An unexpectedly docile reaction as compared to his usual temper, which made Harry’s eyes widen nearly comically.  

Before his ego could be ruined forever, Draco bent his knees and got up in a fluid motion, offering his right hand to Harry to do the same.

Harry hesitated for the fraction of a second before eventually extending his arm and closing his hand on Draco’s. When he was stable on his feet again, he offered a shy smile to him, not really releasing his hand, but instead tightening his grip on it, urging Draco to follow him.

“Let’s go then, shall we?”

Draco simply nodded his approval, and while turning his back to the river, caught a glimpse of his distorted reflection on the water. It was just a second, but upon ascending the riverbank with Potter to reach back to the street, he thanked Merlin that his newfound companion hadn’t brought up the topic of his shining skin again. Maybe it had been just a trick of the sun. He could still hope, at least until Potter mentioned it again. If that happened, he would have to deal with some big hassle, indeed. And to think he was quite confident with his control over his glamour, despite his age. How wrong.

After emerging from the steep bank, they walked down the riverside for some minutes in a peaceful silence that Draco himself rather welcomed. Harry had eventually freed his hand when they’d reached the slightly unpaved street, but the atmosphere among them was still rather relaxed, which partially came as a pleasant surprise to Draco. Some part of him was starting to suspect that they would spend all of their time together bickering stubbornly. Apparently, he was wrong. Happily wrong.

“Here we are!”

Potter had brought him to… another park?

“Here is where I come when I don’t want to be found by Dudley, nor… anyone. This and actually also that helpful bush of hortensias outside the window in the living-room.”

“Oh.” How hilarious. “I see…”

Draco himself could say to have gotten acquainted with that same bush quite well.

As for the park… After throwing a second, clearer look at the surroundings, Draco was able to notice a lot of substantial dissimilarities from the place where they’d coincidentally met some hours before. The grass was rather untamed there, much more than the other, and only a set of old, rusty benches was scattered here and there in the significantly smaller area, along the path that once signalled the presence of some gravelly trails. Now the weeds had swallowed nearly any trace of civilization, and the place looked as if any form of human presence had abandoned it long ago. No one was actually there to welcome them when Harry took a confident stride towards the entrance, and despite his overall confusion, Draco had no other choice than to follow him.

They stopped at the foot of a large white poplar tree. Its branches were wide and thick, extended in every direction as to create a nearly oval green cloud that towards the top made it nearly impossible to distinguish one intricate stem from the other, at least from below. However, its massive trunk was strangely arching here and there and diagonally bent. More or less starting from the height of Draco’s head upwards, it presented some notches in the bark that immediately gave Draco some highly plausible clues as to which use Potter made of that particular tree.

“I guess we’re not supposed to have a relaxing seat down here and enjoy the cool shade while hordes of bugs devour our bodies, are we?”

“Of course not!”, was Harry’s enthusiastic response, which came accompanied by a blinding smile that definitely didn’t match Draco’s increasing preoccupation. “We are climbing!”

“ _You_ are climbing.” No way he was uselessly ruining his precious dragon boots over some poplar bark. “I personally am totally fine with avoiding death and st---”

“ _Come ooon!_ ”

“You know?” _WHY?_ Why was he _so_ unable to say a simple _no_ to that pest? _So much for being a Malfoy…_ “I really hate you. Me and my valuable clothes hate you. I don’t even know why I’m still here, talking to y---”

“You know you don’t.” Draco saw Potter grinning at him frustratingly for a second, eyes dripping with sparkling satisfaction, before turning to the tree and planting his hands and feet boldly on the notches that appeared to be the most reachable from where they stood. “Now just shut up and follow me.”

Amidst a lot of imprecations, near-death experiences on Draco’s part, and constant efforts by Harry to promptly grab Draco by his hands or arms every single time he accidentally slipped on a patch of moss, they eventually managed to reach a particularly thick, horizontal branch that stood at more or less four or five metres from the ground. Harry settled on it comfortably, as if it were the most natural thing to do, legs dangling cheerfully, while Draco – hands desperately holding onto the only piece of bark that he deemed safe enough to sustain him – was still trying to get around the fact that he’d let Potter coax him into that silly ordeal.

However, after the initial discomfort, as soon as he was able to loosen up a bit, Draco lost track of the time they spent there, doing nothing but trivial things like commenting on the questionable choices of clothes of every single woman or man they could see passing on the street running along the entrance of the park, with sharp remarks by part of Draco that nonetheless made Harry laugh out loud. Which in turn elicited an odd sense of pride and satisfaction in Draco. At some point, Harry also confided to Draco some other unpleasant stories on Big D when they caught sight of his gang in the distance and Draco saw Harry tense up suddenly, in what he’d come to identify as an automatic reaction to that idiotic Muggle.

People indeed passed through the place every now and then, at times even crossing the park as a shortcut to get to the opposite road in less time, but no one spared them a single glance. They couldn’t see them, perched on that branch as some resting, overgrown birds. It was… reviving, somehow. Knowing that it kind of was as if they were dead to both of their worlds.

… _Yeah, at least until your father traces where you are and disowns you after discovering what you are doing_.

That thought came all of a sudden from nowhere to threaten Draco’s peacefulness, making him remember that he should probably go, before things could get even more complicated. He wholeheartedly hoped that Dobby had done a good job with covering his absence, particularly in the event one of his parents had already returned home.

“I’m sorry, but I have to go”, he thus was forced to voice out against his will, making Harry – who’d been lounging comfortably on his portion of branch for the last couple of minutes, hands behind his head and eyes closed peacefully – jerk up in a sudden motion that nearly threatened to make them both fall off the tree.

“Oh… Are you sure?” Harry looked and sounded so sad that a small, hidden portion of Draco’s heart contracted painfully at that sight.  

“Yeah, sorry… It’s quite a long way for me to go back home from here and I bet it’s already pretty late, so…”

“It’s…” Harry raised his left arm, looking at an old, wrecked muggle wristwatch that just as his glasses had seen better days, and continued: “…4.18 pm, actually.”

“Oh my, it _is_ late. _Merlin_ ”, hissed Draco between his teeth. He still had some chances to get away with his little trip, but he definitely had to speed things up. “I really have to go now.”

“Okay, don’t worry… I understand.”

While trying to contemplate the best way to approach the descending process without risking his life another hundred times, Draco caught sight of Harry’s cute pout, but tried to ignore it with all his remaining strengths. The boy clearly looked as if in truth he didn’t want to be that understanding towards Draco’s departure, at all. Still…

“Do you think you’ll be able to descend without making jam of yourself?”

…Evidently, despite the clear sadness, Potter still retained some bite up his sleeve.

“ _What do you take me for?_ Of course I am. Do watch me.”

To be completely honest, after having finally planted his feet on the soil, Draco couldn’t say he was pleased with his performance, given it had taken him a good ten to fifteen minutes to cover that bunch of metres down the bent trunk. However, Potter luckily seemed prone to have pity on him and refrained from rubbing salt into his wounded pride. He just threw Draco a relieved look when he released his grip on the last notch he’d been holding to, and bid farewell to him from above the tree.

“See you soon, Lynx.”

“Goodbye Harry.” Draco really didn’t want to go. He didn’t. But he couldn’t let his life be turned completely upside down due to some… some strange connection he himself failed to understand. Although there was something in him that craved to act upon his instinct and ignore his parents’ possible reaction, he still had some reason left in him. And thus, he clung to it. “See you here tomorrow, I hope.”

“I hope, too.”

Harry waved him goodbye from the tree with a slightly forced smile that didn’t completely reach his eyes. It was the last thing Draco saw while turning his back to the white poplar and walking away, before his foolish instincts could make him decide to remain there, with Harry.

 

*** * ***

 

Eventually, Draco made it home just in time for dinner.

He’d merely began putting on some clean, more elegant clothes after throwing the floo-dirtied ones under the bed in a rush to hide any proves, when his mother unexpectedly knocked at his door and entered before even waiting for an answer. As usual.

“ _Mother!_ ”, exclaimed Draco in surprise, bouncing along precariously on one leg to fit the pair of silvery trousers he’d just grabbed from the wardrobe.

“Draco, my dear”, began Narcissa, throwing a disappointed look at his messily semi-clothed figure. “Here you are! I’d been searching for you everywhere until Dobby informed me that you’d gone to the greenhouses to cure your plants. Next time please tell me if you decide to disappear for hours.”

_Brilliant job, Dobby_.

Thank goodness, the elf had outdone his expectations. Both of his parents actually knew about his passion for plants and anything potion-related, despite he still hadn’t had the chance to get his hands on a cauldron of his own and put into practice all his accumulated knowledge on the subject. Therefore, that story definitely was well put together. He often spent hours in the greenhouses located on the furthest recesses of the Manor’s territory, thus his Mother probably had bought that lie quite easily, given the high probability of it being actually true.

“I will, Mother. I’m sorry, it was a… late decision, and you were already gone, but it won’t happen again, I promise.”

… _Until tomorrow, at least_. Draco put up the most credibly regretful façade he managed to conjure up, but inside he was grinning to himself from ear to ear, though a bit sheepishly.

“Good.” Luckily, his mother seemed to suspect nothing, and gave him a quick smile, before turning to the door and stopping just at the entrance, closing her right, jewelled hand on the jamb. “Dinner is ready. Your Father will be home soon to join us, so I expect you to come down in a couple of minutes or so.”

“Of course, Mother. I’ll just finish putting my clothes on and then I’ll be there immediately.”

His mother simply nodded at him, definitely more pleased than when she’d entered the room, and then left, closing the door softly after herself.

In that precise moment, Draco exhaled loudly, releasing a dense breath he wasn’t even aware he’d been holding.

He was good, at least for now.

 

*** * ***

 

“Do you know who I saw at the Ministry today, my dear? None other than Albus Dumbledore himself.”

“Again?”, replied Narcissa to her husband’s announcement, while serving Draco a second helping of roasted potatoes.

“Apparently.” Trying to appear unaffected by the conversation, Draco threw a side look at his father, who was sat at the head of the table at his left, with his hands intertwined before his face thoughtfully. “The Minister seems to be unable to carry out whatever simple task without fishing for his approval beforehand. It’s embarrassing, to be honest.”

“You know it, Lucius… Dumbledore can be quite the persuasive type.”

“He definitely can. He and his stupid charming p---”

“ _Lucius!_ ”

Draco heard his father clear his throat a couple of times, then offering his wife a tight smile in response to her reprimand, before continuing. “As I was saying… The Minister basically hangs on his every words. Disgusting. All those hours I spent trying to curry favour with him. Then Dumbledore appears from nowhere and ruins everything! You know… Half the time I got to eavesdrop on their conversations from some distance they were talking about the Potter boy.”

“Potter as in… _Harry Potter?_ ”, intruded Draco impulsively after hearing the one and only word that could have had the power to break his well-built wall of composure. And to say his goal for that dinner had originally been to get out of it in the least amount of time possible, and then sneak off immediately to his bedroom. Instead, now he’d probably managed to trap himself with his own hands. How naïve of him.

“Not again, Draco…”, in fact commented Narcissa, a hint of exasperation colouring her voice. Draco actually knew that she was aware of his little obsession, given she’d caught him multiple times in the act of spying on his father while he had other people around with him in his study, or devouring books over books in his search for information on Potter. Yeah, obsession definitely seemed quite the accurate word.

Despite that, Draco still felt a little upset by the judgement he could detect in the tone used by his mother. He thus couldn’t help reacting to that, even if part of him was aware that move could end up having him grounded for at least one week straight.

“ _I was just asking, Mother!_ ”

Luckily for him, apparently his father was still in quite a decent mood, despite everything. Or, at least, wasn’t up for making Draco’s worst case scenario real.

“Let him, my dear. There’s nothing wrong in being a little curious, if things don’t spiral out of control, obviously. Yes, Draco, they were talking about Harry Potter.”

A little taken aback but that unexpected turn in the events, Draco silently observed his father sip on his wine, then setting his piercing eyes on him from the border of the stem glass he was holding.

“Your mother has informed me that you’ve developed quite an interest in the kid as of recent… Is it true?”

“Yes, Father”, was Draco’s instant answer, resounding clear and firm despite the increasing knot of panic that was tightening in his gut. He was actually quite surprised and proud of himself for not stuttering at all.

“Can I ask you why?”

“Well I… always hear you talk about him with Mother and others and I just…” Merlin, that was _really_ hard.  “I wanted to… know a bit more, I suppose? Like, why he is so famous, where and how he lives and things like that…”

“Well, I’d say you already know the reason he became famous. As for where he lives… Not even I know it. Unfortunately, it seems that only Dumbledore knows the exact location. A real nuisance, I’d say.”

Wait.

_What?_

“O-Only… Dumbledore?”

“Exactly.”

“ _Lucius._ ” That time his mother’s tone echoed with peremptory firmness in the silence of the dining-room.

However, before his father could have words with her, something suddenly clicked in Draco’s mind, prodding him to ask: “Is this why you have never made a move on… him? Like, trying to approach him or something…”

“It is, son.”

It was at that point that his mother eventually snapped, the usual composure now gone, and her voice suddenly rising well above her natural pitch. 

“ _You shouldn’t be discussing these things with our son, Lucius! He’s still a child, after all, and---_ ”

“I know, Narcissa. But Draco is still a Malfoy. There are things he’s allowed to know, up to some limits.”

His parents thus started discussing parental responsibilities, but Draco was no longer listening. Another, definitely more preoccupying, thought was slowly creeping into his mind, eliciting a cold shiver down his spine.

If only Dumbledore knew where Potter lived… _How in hell had he even been able to find him?_

 

*** * ***

 

“ _Dobby!_ ”

“Yes, Young Master?”

“Do you still have that list of books I gave you months ago with---”

“I do, Young Master, I always keep---”

“Oh, Merlin be thanked! That’s brilliant! Then go to our library and bring all of those books back to me, will you?”

“Now? All the books?”

“Of course now! When should I want them if not now?”

Draco had been pacing nervously across his room for the last five or ten minutes, as soon as dinner had finished and he’d been able to retreat safely enough to grant himself some private time to follow the contorted strings of his spiralling thoughts. “And yes, bring me everything. I need to check something out and it’s extremely important, so please, be quick.”

Dobby silently nodded and then bowed to him in a swift motion, but just a moment before he could disappear from Draco’s sight, the boy added:

“…And make sure Mother doesn’t see you or I’m dead meat.”

 

*** * ***

 

A couple of hours later, Draco was sat on his bed, books sprawled everywhere on the soft duvet, all opened in pages or specific chapters containing information on The Boy Who Lived.

He’d attentively checked and re-checked everything. From tiny, potentially irrelevant quotations to full-length paragraphs on Potter’s known story, theories and speculations, and books written specifically on the subject. He’d swiftly scanned through all the material he knew he’d previously consulted during his recent researches, and had gotten to the conclusion that he couldn’t have read it anywhere.

Not that he doubted his father’s words, but…

_He is right. I never read the address in one of these books. But if that’s true, then how…_

And then, he suddenly remembered.

_The_ _dream_.

The memory of some weeks before came back to him in a flash of lightning clearness, despite the hazy confusion it still carried with itself.

His body, dragged involuntarily by his dreamy conscience at the foot of a huge streetlamp that, as soon as he’d touched it, had morphed into a rusty road sign, sporting a writing that was now very well-known to him: _Privet Drive_. An old woman, walking out of a wooden, crumbling house kept together with worm-eaten planks. That same woman, intercepting him to ask if her address in _Little Whinging_ was the correct one where to spend the rest of her old age. His sheer perplexity, and then that scorching number, carved on the entrance door. The chipped lines of the _“4”_ that, as soon as Draco set his blinking eyes on it, started melting on their own borders in a silent combustion of flames that progressively devoured the whole house until fire was everywhere. All around him. In his mind, into his lungs. He _was_ the fire. And in the dream he let himself consume everything, until burning the world to cold ashes.

Draco resurfaced from the memory panting heavily, his silvery eyes wide open, still flashing liquid fire, and a string of sweaty beads covering his forehead as a testament to his fright.

_This…  I-It can’t be. How---_

Now he definitely had something to occupy his mind with for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...more Drarry interactions in this chapter! I'm trying to build up their relationship as naturally as possible, but there still is some build-up for the upcoming plot advancements as well. 
> 
> Though, one of my lovely readers commented on the last chapter asking if this was slow burn and... It kinda is? I just took for granted that it would be inferred from my introductory note (where I say this is going to be a long story) and the existing tags, but in retrospect I guess it's better if I add "slow burn" to the tags as well, so that it's clearer and everyone is warned. ^^" Sorry if I misled you! I still hope everyone who's reading is enjoying the story as much as I am writing it! :D 
> 
> There will probably be a couple of chapters left for the First Part, and then we'll be moving to the Hogwarts portion... In the meanwhile, thanks to anyone who shows this some love, I'll see you in the next chapter! Byee <3


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